THE DOORLESS CONFESSIONAL

 

                                                                                    Yes God,

                                                                                    I have broken several of your commandments,

                                                                                    and greatly enjoyed it in the process.

                                                                                    Only after, with the dark clouds of guilt rolling in,

                                                                                    would I run to the Bible, looking for forgiveness,

                                                                                    half understanding what I read there.

 

                                                                                    I have worshipped the electric guitar

                                                                                    and naked women as false gods,

                                                                                    though saw no devils in the sound waves of Heavy Metal,

                                                                                    nor for that matter, well‑rounded bosom.

 

                                                                                    When convenient, I have lied and stolen,

                                                                                    but want to brag of neither,

                                                                                    recalling the pathetic excuses used to commit the sins.

 

                                                                                    And then there were the Germans.

                                                                                    How I envied their crisp uniforms,

                                                                                    the shimmer of Iron Cross…

                                                                                    swastikas stroking my naiveté,

                                                                                    until viewing photographs of mass burial pits,

                                                                                    stuffed with mannequins, surely not human.

                                                                                    How you must shake your head,

                                                                                    watching me stumble through life,

                                                                                    while I intermittently wallow in delusions of grandeur,

                                                                                    until a subtle reminder of my expendability,

                                                                                    guardian angel sent, 

                                                                                    shrinks me back to a humbler size.

 

 

                                                                                                                © 1984  Chris Sorrenti