A banished ageless lyric,

Not enticing in its ever mystic,

A great troll thrown to the fast rapids,

An enigma embodied in the unpleasant lipids,

A grace hated for the seperation it sets,

A drawer pushed away for the line that it draws,

A name disliked by the boys and girls on camp,

A letter detested by the crowd of stamps,

A jury that seeks to divide,

The string of masses in their glide,

People must learn to love,

The lesson behind this glove,

For in hand, it gives a stunning review,

A tapestry of unsaid words that mewls,

A sound of incomparable awakenings,

That shields us for another astounding working.

I want to thank God for giving me the Grace to write this. So, how was it?