Poems

A collection of heartaches, healing, and hope.

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4. The Wages of a Soul

Others may writhe as they confess, 
And their wrongs prickle their humble pride.

But my confessions sear my soul, 
And set my lips on fire with shame.

How long until the white-hot guilt
Can no longer hurt me?

How long until the brands of sin
Have worn the nerves to deadness?

For the wage of sin is death, 
And shame its fore-bearer.

And when the guilt falls away, 
Only the debt is left.

And the debt will be reaped, 
And the wages payed in full.

And will my soul be saved? 
Or is the brand a sign 
Of the eternal torture, 
Of death and shame in harmony?

Others may writhe as they confess, 
But will I be left to writhe in the dark?

Or can a Light 
Show the Way 
To a Truth 
And free my soul?

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