Apostate Apocrypha
Much joy to me such wisdom is
No word made flesh could ever find
Nor single moment in time and space
And naught for reason could ever bind
Yet still abounds within my grasp
No reason decries such otherwise
By hideous death of poison asp
Than suffer such fate as eternal lies
And hear such reason as all could see
But still abound within that frame
Such dubious wretched and withering soul
A tempestuous storm that knows no blame
Though afterward on sinking ship
Left all of pawn for our own demise
This ocean of ignorance upon which we sail
Left oft no presence to hear our cries
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