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.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: August 2nd, 2024 10:26
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments1
Wonderfully worded this poem has some great images and the meaning is intriguing.
Thanks Soren, I remember going to confession as a young boy and being fearful of my penence. I was also an alter boy during mass. Thanks for sharing your feedback, I appreciate it.
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