I had to write a few poems for school, and though "Why not make keteks?" They're based on a chapter in Cry, the Beloved Country, not anything about Brandon Sanderson. I'm pretty proud of these, considering the amount of time I spent on them.
Service in church, come all bereft, all come, church in service.
Speaking, people shake hands, funeral, hands shake, people speaking.
Myself forgotten, I sincerely listen. Sincerely, I forgot myself.
"Look," they said. "Is it death?" It is said. They look.
Just remember. Doesn't seem able. Seemingly doesn't remember justice.
Struggle: Christianity of men versus men of Christ struggling