Smudged tiles and tilted walkways,
Machines that clunked and rattled,
Accompanied by drowsy people
Waiting for grace.

I stumbled to an empty metal box,
My filthy rags clutched in my hands,
And threw them in, falling to my knees.
I had no detergent,

No way to wash the deep-rooted stains
The world had reaped upon them.
My own choices stared back at me like
Dirt from the subway.

Tears started to carve tracks down my
Face as the blood of Jesus soaked
Into the garments, covering the grime
As they began to spin.

When I opened the door, they were
Made new again.