The congregation; working actors, writers, dancers, and painters looking for inspiration

The ministry; museum curators, storytellers, and teachers that spread the word

The saints; those who made sacrifices for art’s sake and are forever embedded in history

How do some falsely proclaim to

lie down to sleep in prayer, with a

right heart and mind.

And yet they arise with anger and

strife. Storming with hatred, even

though the sun is bright and shining.

Their soul is black as night.

You don't know us,

Unless you've been there,

We live differently,

We live our ways,

We fight our ways,

We make our own decisions,

Without parents,

Without any real danger,

But you see it all as danger,

In that worn book

With its black etched pages

Scribble marked paths

You chose through the ages

Even paqes wished forgotten

Outnumber those loved

Paper winqs ripped out

And thrown flittering up above