A Confession
The gentle shepherd of my soul I hear,
In memories calling, ‘mongst the pastures green,
Refreshing me from waters still and clear,
Just Him and me with Eden’s bliss between,
Oh had I not His loving way forsook,
Exotic, foreign pleasures I besought,
On top of Nimrod’s tower, I went to look,
And from whence He brought me down to nought,
Wandering, as Cain, I scratched the earth,
Yet somehow Lamech’s hubris I displayed,
A cockerel on a dung heap in my dearth,
Like an ass, so foolishly I brayed,
To other gods I whored on bended knee,
Prostituting for what I may gain,
Though in the end, as you will shortly see,
‘Twas nothing short of slavery and pain,
Against the biting goads of time I kick,
Pushing more, till every breath is gone,
My back bent low beneath his knurled stick,
And yet cruel Chronos bids me to run on,
“More!” he cries and “More!” the echoes ring,
The she-wolf, Mammon, biting at my heels,
As to my wounded derriere I cling,
‘Neath whip and tooth and thund’ring chariot wheels,
Venus smiles and cups a naked breast,
To suck, I am invited, of her milk,
Though truly, it is vinegar at best,
Despite her words around me, soft as silk,
Her servant Priapus invites me up,
And offers gilded manacles to wear,
Beside the bed, a blood filled golden cup,
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And there upon the floor lies Samson’s hair,
The bed on which I lie is all aflame,
Jealous Adonis wields the burning brand,
With ashen face and nostrils full of shame,
Through window leaping, in the dark I land,
Like Samson, groping at his last device,
I seek a pillar upon which to lean,
To bring it all down on me in a trice,
A figment of redemption thus to glean,
Who shall from this damned body, save me thus?
Who triumphs over idols great and small?
What advocate will intercede for us?
Before Creator, Judge and Lord of all?
The Gentle Shepherd is himself the Lamb,
Whose sacrifice was given to atone,
He is the true High Priest, the Great I Am,
My hope must ever be in him alone,
What then am I to do with what remains?
How from the winepress floor can I arise?
To treading grapes instead of threshing grains,
To doing what is righteous in his eyes,
Commit my way to Him who is Salvation,
For fear of man is nothing but a snare,
Cast down the gods of human innovation,
And trust in Him whose eye is everywhere;
For anywhere I go, there is Your Spirit,
In heaven above or in the deep below,
The fullness of the earth and all that’s in it,
Belongs to You and one day all will know,
For now I am content to simply praise you,
A grateful stick snatched from eternal flame,
Brandishing a burning hallelujah,
And declaring to the world your sacred name.
