I have stolen from men
And I have stolen
From God; pawns,
Bishops and
Chess boards, bits
And bobs
That escaped creation
But I suspect it is all
Mostly fraud, or
At the very least
Just mundane and
Flawed,  

Alas, I shall stash it
Without a sound, but
Where do I hide my hoard
If those who come snatching
Aren't far off,

Where do I repent
For my crimes, and where
Does this robber of time
Find himself when the day
Has come to an end
And there
Are no more locks to pick,

When the candles
That keep the rooms lit
Devour themselves
And the night
Comes crawling in,

When the crows retire
Their thieving beaks
And refuse to sing,

Where
Does forgiveness lurk
In this great mess, is
There a church
Behind the curtain
Or has the robber
Laid a curse
Upon that too,

And tell me, does
The devil wear smiles
And glee
When she visits
To ask for the lock
But not the key, or
Is it you
Who visits her
To pay up what is
Long overdue,

When will it all end,
The thieving
And the pleading, the
Hapless exchange
Of leaking plans
From uncut hands,

No one now is listening
And all the ears are closed
To the ******* hands
That touch
Strangers’ hearts
Without a sound,

And now I presume
To ask; when
Can I steal the ark
And watch
As my guilt struggles
And drowns.