The Unconfessed Sin
His soul is black with darkest deeds-
The good shoved out by thorny weeds.
Self-loathing has a stranglehold,
While guilt has made its presence bold.
Cold heart a dungeon shut up tight.
Eyes that don't close in sleep at night.
An enemy onto himself-
A once good life rots on the shelf.
Deep emptiness now filled with pain-
The search for peace, so surely vain.
Sin has stolen his walk with God-
Shame keeps him from that holy sod.
He runs and runs, but still can't find
A place so deep where he can hide.
His life; his spirit on the lam-
Can't talk to God; can't talk to man.
Now on his death bed as he lay-
His sin not seen the light of day.
A troubled soul could be at rest-
If to his God he had confessed.
Copyright © by Michelle
4/18/06
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