The Exodus

[the Draç]

"And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush: and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed,"

(Exodus 3:2).

The cookie crisp and the lunchable feast.

The dead are alive, the opposite of deceased.

I fold my paper, the 90 degree crease.

Guess what holiday? The Reese's "Peace".

Drink of me, my blood is of wine.

Praying to the (El)ohim, the God of our time.

My mind clouded with rhymes, the young look to dine.

What's yours, is mine, not necessarily to bind.

What's lost is found, my battle like cry.

I found my wit, I let out a heavy sigh.

Born to war, I look to design.

Raising Hell to Heaven, the Angel that signs.