Folding paper writing tunes
A little poem or a cartoon

A song at bedtime a stadium gig
A dream that’s small a dream that’s big

Painting by numbers or a priceless piece
Stories of heroes or golden geese

Its nobodies business to treat as rust
what to you is sprinkled with magic dust

Like dead souls struggling to construct our own serenity  
Shattered at the prospect of another morn
While all along planned from before eternity
His tribulations would bring a new dawn

Like strays from the herd with no direction
Unknowingly craving the presence of the sheep herd
Being pursued and needing His loving correction
But tired of hearing what we had NEVER heard

Torrential impeachment reigning in our hearts
While truth knocks our door daily
Seasoned with sardonicism  we bolt like a dart
Back to the darkness almost gaily  

A pretext assumed before reading one word
of scripture so remote yet the richest of its kind
wallowing in our own understanding; so absurd
how Joyful to leave all of that behind

The prince of peace I pray to thee
That you sustain me continually
Then maybe I can share you
And set others free
Amen

As the guitar plucked the buskers strings
The endless space was made of things
For many are the few who sing
The birth of doom one day did spring

The truth I lie through muted speech
Without my arms and many legged reach
My instructor learned I refused to teach
The carnivorous mouth of the vegan peach