Forgive me, Father



This glorious disaster, this dark
-est hour repent. I’ve grown tired
of the privacy of these hol(e)y walls.

I shall make of this whole burning
sky a confessional, an adolescent lust
for redemption, release.

Find me here, on bended knee, hands
raised. Lost lamb, looking for a glimpse
of home.

 

..
This was yesterday’s poem, the one with all the prompts. 

 

 

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