By Benjamin Lem
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
Chained I am to the shadows of my heart.
My passions, once blooming healthily amongst asphalt and concrete,
Twists from big checks and warm pretzels from the street carts.
It feeds my thirst as though I sit upon a throne being wagered,
Hand and foot, by the collective commoners of the civil world.
Backstreet business binds my wrists to
The jewels of the underworld.
And the blood I’ve spilt was never by
Accident or in defense, but out of spite and fury.
Chasing the prowlers by the red light I always try
And satiate the horrors of my mind I hide and bury.
So tell me Father, even with a soul so corrupted and torn asunder,
Could I ever reach salvation?
Or am I too late to be absolved
And I forever tread the path of damnation?