By Geri Jance

That a feast of common thieves say they ate with God

At odds over virtue and the validity of perhaps

Confined in captivity until eventually, it adapts

It acts out of nature is all its suppose

In relation to the "Called" in response to the "Chose"

It holds the load barely, the stash of lime light

Has one mans wrath ever been defined so polite?

Had mad become the profile of the docile Sadducees

Immune to its scrutiny when its pruned of its leaves

Bereaved pleads of hope in the folds of old scars

(The seize of plated notes that corrode in gold bar)?

At par subdivided to pry its page gone

(By one they came in private to decide its Code Song)?

Have ear, hear whispers of undertone speech

The cheer of deaf listeners, amongst the ones reached