pic by eunice lituans
The Penitent (2004)
My God, I relent.
What did I not do right?
Which t’s did I not cross? Which i’s left I undotted?
Was I too haughty, ambitious, proud?
Please tell me, Lord.
I might have erred in ignorance.
For my errors I want to atone,
so that the pain will cease.
I hate myself for being weak,
for being pain’s unrelenting prey.
Shine forth your light in the valley
of this approaching death
that masks true faith
in the circularity of its jagged labyrinth.
Is there no absolution,
no healing for the penitent?
Why are wounds still raw,
exposing pink flesh to fresh infections?
This poem can be found in my book Splendor from Ashes