The priest in his stately robes,

I am before him - looking into those murky globes.

I shake like a newborn, from the womb like Job-

I must make my confession.

Pure white fabric struck with red wine,

The blood of my God; thou art divine-

My mortal contract he will sign,

Continue with the procession.

Knees creaking, lowering at the pew,

Devout numerous, yet genuine few;

Their hearts are false -must be made anew-

They will yield and let go of aggression.

Sickly breaths outside the sacred box,

Church bells toll, replacing the clock.

Oozing sin, soon God will knock-

I will burst and make my confession.

Spilling my guilt into the ear of my Father,

He sifts through my shame like a tireless swather.

The seed of my sin getting larger and darker;

Let me transfer my burden, lay down my confession.