Rock, Paper, Scissors, Grace
Rock, paper, scissors—throw!
Round and round the players go.
Fist and blade and covering sheet,
Watch the ancient cycle repeat.
Rock is Greed, a clenching tight,
Knuckles white and clutching might.
But the poor in spirit stand
With nothing hidden in their hand—
And heaven falls into their palm,
When Kingdom comes, they'll have it all.
Paper's Shame, the covering face,
Hiding from the human race.
But those who mourn refuse to hide,
They let the tears run undenied—
And comfort wraps them like a skin,
A gentler blanket hugs them in.
Scissors, Pride, the cutting art,
Snipping threads and slicing heart.
But the meek lay down the blade,
Bow their heads, feigning brave—
And find the earth beneath their feet
Is theirs to keep, the circle complete.
Rock, paper, scissors—Loss!
Every win becomes a cross.
But open hands and open eyes
Find the game was the disguise—
One, two, three, and shoot:
Grace strikes players at the root.
