Remember rhyming schemes can seem overly keen And religion is rather contentious. A limerick's too light and a little bit trite And free verse is somehow pretentious. Haiku is not only for trees
The magnetic pull of absolution leaves me scrabbling for a faith that isn't here. An ache that cannot be eased by the bliss of the box. Dark, cool wood scent cannot wash away the stain which mars me.
Each small oblivious act of grace bestowed upon me Is both a joy and a pin prick. As conscience needles; the day blackens, And your kindness gilds a hopelessly tarnished soul.