Our Terrorist Departed

Who’ll care for him, attend his needs,
who’ll try to put him at his ease?
Who’ll tell him tales of way back when,
where he may be a boy again.

Those bygone days before he turned,
his world into a place he scorned.
Come, take him back, don’t leave him here,
he can’t fit in, the way’s unclear.

Pack up his ills and take him home,
he knows he must, his sins atone.
Regrets, he has and by the score,
he cannot bear them anymore.

He’s at his end, at mercy’s whim,
the silent fear, that din within.
Tormenting every breath, he takes,
the self-destructing altered states.

What he has done, beyond recall,
but on his word, laments it all.
He will own up, in hopes persuade,
his deep remorse for those betrayed.

Please hear him out, he’s on his knees,
with nothing left but dying pleas.
A wretched creature cloaked in gloom
whilst haunting shadows seek his doom.

The path to grace, repent. repent!
But non to ease his discontent.
So, how can he, his sins confess,
alone in death with his regrets?

If God is good, I’m sure He is,
He’ll take him in as one of His.
And then again, no one can tell,
perhaps the bastard burns in hell.