In the Concrete Confessional
He kneels on the little room’s hard stone floor,
clasps his hands tightly and bows his weary head,
whispering soft the truest words he’s ever held within.
Only he and his maker know his last words,
and the weary heart from which they came,
and the depth and width of a lost soul in pain.
He confesses his transgressions and more,
feeling the bite, the bitterness of what he’s said,
the too long list of his life long toll of sin.
Knowing the futility of hope, grace unheard,
and setting the record straight in His name,
he now waits to see if he’ll transcend his mortal stain.
In the Concrete Confessional
WOW good poem.
You told me I could not cheat. ;(