A whisper through the stained-glass lies,
Moths dance in the confessional lamp\'s glow.
Promised heavens hinge on earthbound sighs,
In the shadow of the cross, sins roost low.
The ledger of the soul, red ink-stained,
Where each secret trespass etches a fee.
One nail, one prayer, a grace regained,
In repent\'s echo, a lock turns free.
Footfalls soft in the silent nave\'s chill,
Coins drop, wishes cast, candles faintly flare.
Ghosts of guilt haunt the pews at will,
Yet mercy waits in the confessor\'s chair.
On layaway, absolution’s weight lies,
Forgiveness bought by the faith in our eyes.