Sunday, March 13, 2011

April 29, 2008

In the hall, after class—
I confess my unfortunate sin
To a tattered priest in a down vest.

No prayer as penance,
But instead a dismissal:
“The love you seek is not free.”

These words, they sting my heart,
Tearing away its flesh
Like a slab of hot ice.

Disheartened am I; nevertheless
I accept my penance
And all its torturous ways.

Three years would pass, with
My hands bleeding from my love rosary
And my flayed heart festering.

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