Break me and make bread.

In your head,
I'm forever alive.

You can take your road to Calgary and it won't bother me
if you take me.

Here are true lives in the lines.

We read because we need them,
even in our solitude, we choose them and after all, they give meaning to the many men who come to pray before them.

On the Richter scale, we measure five, not quite a fail but not an achievement of which we could boast.

Break me and I'll play host to the demons that ride through the night when you're at your most vulnerable.

Take me and recreate me in the image of your man, but we fake it where we can.

Because,
and that has to be the answer sworn,
the baby born
the cradle cap
the winged bat
All these to choose
rejoice and win
or reject and lose.

Sermons on the Mount in many fonts available from any encyclopaedia,
online any time
Line
Break.