A single gasp of darkness there,
a clicking hasp, the door swings wide
and to the point of death, beware;
such parted lips in whispered prayer,
brush teeth and lips and gums aside,
to swallow whole the empty lie,
which was ingested from the womb.
The haunting past, which will not die
from lack of guilt or second try,
scant light shines from its vaulted room.
The hostage cannot bear the debt
in ransom that can win release
from captor's snare and tangled net.
The stakes rise high and higher yet
as each day witnesses increase.
So pierce the culprit, yes, impale
and pin sin down, then run it through.
In throes of death, though it may wail
forgiveness pours from every nail,
the ransom, Jesus, paid for you.