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. 



This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Use your words.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.