Send me something to kneel for
I haven't what to repent
Through the mail; a letter, an essay if you will
My eyes strain at even the faintest of intimations
My ears tear wide at the crooning of your chants
In my head, your memory never ages,
although bits disperse
Leading a sudden loom, my mind led aloof
The past, I urge you to abet
So that I may remind you, on the truest note, that
I never meant to forget.
These places I've been have me bed-ridden, felt as dross
A day sooner unto welcoming death
Never having plead God forgive impropriety
Of others, or of me
Forgive the transgression pulled through; so daft a plight
I digress to ever having prayed so long a night
In this silence, I find
He listens well, for however many minutes at a time,
but if anything is to be said...
Time is known not to be as kind.