Poem By demarice stainback
For the chains that bind the hands of time,
From trees falls sweet of natures wine,
we drink and be merry and all seems fine,
and swing from glory on heavens vine, he call.
As darkness whispers and the oceans fall,
Please take my soul but overall and take me my father,
for my spirit calls, for i have ask of all,
through sorrow and shame, for we will be sentenced for all in his name,
for the book of vain, is his hunger pain, that striped us from the glory, in which we came.