Ancient Sin Poem by Kweku Atta Crayon

My future arrested in the apple on the tree
So she harvested and now am free
To my conscience, I owe a plea
Jesus holds my first six
as I struggle for the rest to fix

Judge me not, I am because she sinned
In the saint's, am skinned
Clothed in white robe
after a careful probe
sing in heavenly choir
new voice I have acquired
Announcing the coming of a Lord
He cometh in hand, a sword
Slaying the victims of the future
which the apple untied from its suture

Can we be confused?
Can we trust all that was infused?
A book we trusted without investigation
Who harmed us, our own justification/

But this ancient sin
was well committed to win.