An exploration of how guilt destroys the soul, and grace redeems it
It furled, drawn deeply where rational thought abates,
Its hour passing a grudging reprieve,
A wanton eulogy to the sanguine fluid drenching
The lifeless form prostrate, a gangling badge of absurdity,
A double, cleverly epitomizing more disposition
Than sorrow's succinct reproof.
Against the grip of terror nourishing my heartless soul,
Perhaps the final freedom to descend into the abyss,
Folded and dissembled in alienation's thoughtless veil,
A touch of grace from a source never known ... my God!