a powder of frost
covers the bush land's terrain
on this cold June day

Some think about it
more than others,
their minds
absorbed by forbidden fruit,
hungry,
ravenous,
whetting their appetites
day & night,
fighting sweet urges,
lost in their
imaginations,
those close encounters of
the sensual kind
that everybody thinks about
(some more than others).

It's been a month of Sundays
Since it is that I set face
Anywhere near this band of angels
In this most Holy Sacred Place

Guilt may overwhelm me
Shame may do me in
This day set forth may break me
Great sinner that I am

No one is less deserving
For I am the least of these
As I am covered in God's glory
Awashed with an inner peace

The days that I've been vacant
Are all apart in the grand scheme of things
Bringing me to my knees in my need of saving
And back to the Eternal King

As my brothers and sisters in Christ surround me
Pouring out love, not ones to judge
Tears of joy like flowing fountains
As another Prodigal son returns

Moved by ungracious deeds,
minds lost in wedded eyes.
Sanity is overrated....
Sin is not.