I gave you something
that belongs to me,
and all you left for me
was the gift receipt.

There is no dishonesty
greater than mine, o lord
there is no lie
further than mine, o lord

I shall give you one thing, to repent
no I can not give you my head,
nor my heart, nor my hands,

I could give no god such things.
Unholy and corrupt those gifts would be.
They all contain my sin.

Instead I present the creases amongst my brow.
Taken as a my last untainted element,
Free from the treachery of my crime.

Uncertainty

Though you don’t think it much
It may be all I have left
to prove that I had grace

They never betrayed me as they won’t you.
They will not displeasure, o lord.
For they are honest things.

They speak of pain and joy
They whisper my deepest heartaches
They coo my greatest fears

If you would be so kind, o lord.
Take this gift with open arms
the rest you can discard.

Toss me in the ocean, for I am but a sinner.
A broken thing, too broken to beg
I am not fit for Heaven, o lord.

But you can take my brow.
They are pure and true.

One wish do i beseech thee.
When i wither, sprinkle fine roses upon my carcass
As i dream a dreamless sleep with a frail smile
In my marble tomb
Where a framed severed head called sin,
Hangs above my bed,
For she could not hold me nor pierce my armor
coated in faith in Yeshua.

Shed no tears.
I leave thou with gifts wrapped in fond memories
For thee to hold dear,
To hath on repeat,
Whenever thou ache my absent.

I pray thy days become ancient;
Planting seeds after thy kind,
For this rotten slum yearns
Selfless sunshines to shine their sanguine beams
Unto the lost,
Imprinting he who saves
Unto their shattered vases,
Mending their fragments
Dashed by the serpent
Altogether,
Whole again.

I am blessed.........
What happened to me,
happens everyday somewhere
So, to consider myself unfortunate - isn’t fair
Taking my misfortune to be bigger than others,
Is indeed my ignorance
 Now my actions has become spontaneously correct ever since

Though you were ambushed by trickery,
You spat on the face of apathy and
Stood daily by your roots, till
Thy labor blossomed with
Good tidings.

A subject you were of ill treatment,
Bouncing from one leech to another
Through channels of stress,
Greeted by streams of anxiety.

Fashioned in obsidian,
You shot your arrow
Wrapped with zeal,
Within the bowels of your target,
By thy hands, foreign to sleep
To claim your sweat,
Your first metal horse
With nostrils of fire.

Ridden she has by endless host
Before thee, filled with years of tales
Eager to rest on the dusty shelf of thy mind,
To keep thee entertained as you ride her body,
Whenever you see fit.

But one wish she requires of thee,
That you melt thy heart in her core;
Thy silver partner in crime.