Alas I sin
With this joy I sing—
The whispering in my Shadow’s inn

These “facts” and deeds, my constant yearn
Lay inside my veins, intensely earned:
A space to fill, instill with vain

Liquid so sweet, salt with brute
Lips of mango, among tropical fruit
Such pleasure often, I dabble in

I sing my hymn
Twas sung to Him:
The High of Seas, Thee sees all scenes

What if Jesus had called a legion of Angels to remove Him from the cross?

I lift and shout
With glories sprout.
I nod and praise, though raised with doubt

Perhaps, I’m a fool
The Satan’s tool—
The more, I wonder: am I of sin, am I A sin?

My flesh; such smell of swine’s curse
While in this casc’t, I land first…
Thy giveth me hope, but I tighten the rope

I stretch my mouth
I fist my chest—
Fighting the beast; upon the self, I feast

My whole is weak…
I ask not for strength.

@sircharlesthepoet