SAINT’S CALL

I’m on my knees of guilt Lord.
Ready to bring my confessions on board.
Like drenching in the rain, I bathed in sin.
I knew of the lustful unfolding scenes
Nurtured in the setting of my prose,
But with the friendship of corruptible different souls,
I never cared.
I just enjoyed its wages in beatitude.
Lord, I need a detergent of salvation.

It’s not my will, Lord,
To have walked the paths I did.
Born in a pool of sin,
I couldn’t stand like a rock,
But before your altar do I kneel today.
Take me not as the sacrifice for it.
Instead, cleanse me with the hyssop
Soaked with blood from the altar.

For the life I lived,
The fear of you was a shrink of my will.
Many a decade lost,
I considered repentance as insanity,
Sermons as a comic fantasy,
And profanity; was a pot dish for my soul.
Turn not thine mercies from me,
Make the light of thine altar my guide,
And instil the morals of BC’s Abraham in me.

Do this for me,
And I’d be one more time,
A lamp that burns for you.
I’d scribble your words a thousand times
Upon the tables of my heart.
Your light will I not burn alone;
Others will have theirs lit by me.
Look not away from the frame of your child:
Forgive me father for I have sinned

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