I have sinned. I am guilty. I am full of regret. I am haunted by the past.
I am judged. I am a prisoner.


by: Luisa Rose

The past that remains,
With it are regrets and pains,
The scars burn again.

The rain the reminds,
Of memories left behind
Doesn’t seem to wind.

The present that stretches,
Admonitions are endless,
Repeating grudges.

The faint light enters
Through this tiny cell window,
It sheds little hope.

The God we believe,
Is only one to run to,
I could look up to.

Through this cell window,
I pray to His good graces
To heal this sorrow.

Imprisoned by sense,
I look up with flowing tears,
Praying for defense.

Praying for freedom
From this begrudging feeling,
This vile martyrdom.

(Date Created: November 24, 2012)


on the edge


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