He said He’d spit me out, dear God,
My tang is bittersweet.
My Father to whom I pray(ed) to,
But dost Thou still see me?
Stoic still in the front row pew,
‘Neath the glaring wash lights.
Uncertain in the haze today;
Tomorrow’s sin alights.
If I am the salt of the earth,
Consume me as I am.
For I falter at your ciphers–
Which claims my kind be damned!
I believe(d) thee all-embracing –
But I question your grace.
On dark nights I earnestly search
To see your holy face.
On the thin line ‘twixt Sky and Hell,
My pleas become pressing.
If I be lukewarm, spare me the fate.
For I need to know if Thou still see me!