My father’s father, A man of stone, steel, his wife, Cornucopia, Table ever full. My father mapped the inner Space, architecture Of the mind, so
I asked the Lord, “why Am I always being smacked Around? Am I not Your son?” He said, “Son, Your power is greater Than all
Born into exile, I walk among the pillars Where our heroes fell. My head is bowed, yet Unbroken am I. I watch, Listen, learn secrets
In the dry heat and Dust, long have I walked. I am Parched. She comes like one Long awaited, to My care is she sworn.
They would me forfeit My lovely SUV and Drive an old Civic They want to take what I’ve earned because they can’t see My value.
A word must exist First before you can say it. Thus does word create. Every letter is A number, put in sequence Shapes the sound