Sinful

[Yuki-Anne]

This is a poem that I wrote over the course of several months after struggling with a sin that just wouldn't go away.

The Aftermath

I say the words "I'm sorry," but by now they just seem stale
How can I say them honestly with all the times I fail?
So many times I vowed that I would not do it again
Only to turn around, ashamed, with swiftly sullied hands.
Can forgiveness still come to one who is as weak as me?
I trip and blind myself until I cannot walk or see.
What can be said, what can be done for such a fool as I?
I am my own arch-nemesis, this fact I can't deny.
And yet, I still deceive myself. Seduction has its way.
Here I stand in the aftermath. Oh Lord, I lost today.

And when in years to come I find this is my battle still
Will I be able to go on? Can I still work your will?
It seems as if I should have slain this monster long ago,
Yet here expectantly it waits, it hungers, poised to swallow.
And I know what I ought to do. I know I ought to flee.
But I find I am paralyzed; my poisoner is me.
And worst of all is when I find that my conscience is dulled.
I gloss over my deeds and try to forget what I've sold.
But it's still there, that wise old voice, my disappointed alter
Its whisper cuts me through and through: "You know the truth, yet falter."

Falter? Sometimes it's worse than that--I run into its jaws.
How swiftly I embrace my death! It more than gives me pause.
It terrifies the core of me, my skin right to my marrow
It slices straight into my soul, like Satan's blackest arrow.
So why is it that I still find your loving light around me?
I am a shrinking, shriveled snake, yet you love me profoundly.
I cannot lift my head to look into your suffering eyes;
I know the price my sin exacts, what pain within them lies.
Gently, you lift up my chin; you make me meet your gaze.
I see the blood drip from your brow. It sets my soul ablaze!

Shame! Oh, shame! Accursed stain! Begone! Return not to me!
For it's not I your poison kills, but He, who lived so truly!
These crimson drops that stain my clothes are blood, but not my own.
I see the extent of your wounds; it turns my throat to stone.
How callously, it seems to me, I thought in moments past.
I see your pain; would I could claim these wasted seconds back!
Such gratitude I show to you: I act like you're not there.
I pretend not to hear you speak. I manage not to care.
Hollow apologies these are, next to your unfettered grace
Yet here they are, and all I hold within my heart's small space.

[TWWK]

Thank you for sharing. Your poem was personally convicting.

[ABlipinTime]

Very well done, Yuki-Anne

[Okami]

I feel this poem alive in me. I'm only just now getting to a point, years and years through addiction, where my sorry is truthful. I feel this hits close to home and is relative. Thank you much, Yuki.