Jots

The five-minute rhapsody,
Wrapped up in my mind-mapped rap-city.
The composition commissioned by emotional effusion,
Cutting quick confusion, discerning truth from illusion,
Myelin-soothing, neural-network cruisin',
Defining new paths with renewal soothing
Regenerative washing, yeah, that old man's losing.
While the world keeps watching, fruit keeps growing,
Wait till it matures, reaping the church's former sowing,

The five-minute thanksgiving rhapsody,
Born from reflection of God's love's capacity,
To take concern for a man, how can this be?
Less than a messed-up, renaissance masterpiece,
Little worm rebel of audacity,
To stand against the World-weaver, that's blasphemy.
How can this be?