Christ I’m full of poetry
Sleepless tired and grey
I write some more to help me
But then there’s more to say

Every time I write these lines
They taunt me from within
I need to tell you everything
To tell you every sin

If penance is a prayer or two
I could begin again
I could pretend my head is clear
Of all this rhyming shame

But that would be unholy
To live with such a lie
And poems are to voice a pain
To soothe it by and by

I only ask for blessings now
For more of my distemper
To disembogue and carry on
With all I can remember

Christ I’m full of poetry
Lively fresh and pure
I write some more to help me
The poems are my cure

2 Comments Add yours

  1. So as I was reading your beautiful poem, it’s as though you were having a personal talk with God, as we all should. I really like the fact that It’s only to Him we have to confess our sins to. I think He blessed you with the poem and that perhaps He is your cure and not the poem….. awesome 👏

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Wren says:

      I like your perspective. It does read like a personal talk, a prayer perhaps. Even those who claim not to believe, collapse into prayer in their hour of need, finding comfort, solace and strength. Interesting indeed. Thank you!

      Liked by 1 person

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