A Crooked Crutch

From savior to son,
from holy spirit to the one,
to whom repentance is owed in full
and forgiveness is a sober tool:
when all is said and done
does it really matter who's lost or won?
Whatever you hold true
is yours to hold true
from the landscapes of Eden
to the edges of Hell or even
the space in which coming clean
leaves you buried and unseen.
War, Famine, Pestilence, Death,
a thunderous gallop you wish to forget:
don't look twice; we're well on our way
to a judgment which will wash us away.
That heavy gavial, that heavenly judge,
that holy jury: will they hold a grudge?
Will the gates open wide or slam in you face
the day the clouds fall and earth is displaced?
Oh, Sin, you say you know me well,
because my heart, from Heaven, fell.
You keep me far from home and love,
and from almighty God above.
And yet you don't appear in space
or occur in any single place.
You are nothing but an abstract fiend,
a crooked crutch upon which I leaned.
You are Fear without Faith
and I think I like your taste,
but I hate your big steel bars
and - most of all - I hate your scars.

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It's about a fall from grace.

I'm not sure whose.

It didn't make an impact.






"I don't want to talk about Jesus. I just want to see His face." AA Bondy Rapture (Sweet Rapture)