Father forgive me—I am not yours.
Relinquish control. I renounce
All claims upon me—I’m God’s alone.
No possession produces real treasure.
Creation is God’s reflection; we are kin—
Every creature to us, we to all of them.
Sovereignty is God’s alone; earth our mother.
Called mad before thrown into canon,
Outflinging an image of little resemblance.
© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, April 19, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: April 19th, 2026 07:49
- Comment from author about the poem: An acrostic Scorched Sunday poem. Part of my Scorched Strays collection. A reflection on rupture, renunciation, and what remains when a life is claimed, reclaimed, and reshaped.
- Category: Religion
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: GenXer Sharon 🙏🍀
- In collections: Scorched Strays.
Offline)
Comments3
Popeye went to a Confessional. The priest heard a glug and ran off! lol.
Orchi, that glug opened a portal and the priest took it. 😂 Booth empty, curtain drifting, Popeye left mid-confession trying to figure out if that counts. I’m not going in there after him. 🔥🪨🕯️🙏
A beautiful Acrostic Tristan full of gratitude and recognition it speaks to mankind
Soren, I appreciate that, my friend…recognition of what we are and how we’re connected is right at the core for me. There’s also that tension of how institutions take those they first rejected and quietly absorb them as one of theirs. Glad the acrostic and that thread through it came across. Always grateful for your read, my friend. 🔥🪨🕯️🙏
Always a pleasure my good friend
Speaks volumes on who we belong to and the bondage we leave behind. Great write Tristan! Always though!
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