How beautiful is the rose

That I watch and admire

Unsightly thorns cling

And I lose my desire

Though thorns are still green

My sins are sightless still

Of greed, gluttony and envy

That may cloud my mind and will

But all humans sin deep inside

And all roses have thorns too

If all human sin is green,

Does that make love and virtue red and blue?

If all humans are unsightly thorns

Then we sin-filled humans will be blossoming roses too.

Because as the crown rests on his brow

Us thorns cling still, crucified now.

I lost my confession
But why u repent?
I shot at the sky
Did sin see me salvaged?
I cradled insanity falling upward
Got the tune with me?
I mocked the thorn, faded
Yearning, bluing, prattling
I hummed the silent lyrics, nested
Could dandelions dare astray?

Resurrection found from the water.
As the golden heart reemerges from the
purification.

Blood stream pumping my grace.
Water digesting my sin.
Confessions of my humanity.
Sharing fear, fare share of love, and
death itself.
I continue the cycle of health.
In each life, for the search of God, I resume
in stealth.

Penitence, /
Repentance: /
—Deviating from erroneous ways /
To a place of integrity. /
The Lonely River flows /
From Sin & Death /
To Living Waters. /

(—Se’ lah)

08-08-2025

being sober feels like living in a shell
that doesn’t show who I am.

when I drink, I feel like a true human being,
like I am alive.

Suddenly, emotions flood me, and they feel real,
my heart beats in a rhythm beyond words.
It is an addictive warmth that spreads
in my body,

you could say it is like a disease,
but to me it feels like salvation.

love feels closest to my soul,
I feel like someone who belongs.
Not when I am sober.
sober, I am caged,
a cage I cannot escape.

a sickening guilt gnaws at me,
because I am my father’s daughter,
an alcoholic, not to his extent.
yet still I drink,
alone, without friends,
without sense.

I live in solitude, the only way it feels right.
the preacher at church
told me when I was eleven:
I wear my father’s sins like a veil,
as if I was born with it.

so maybe I don’t just look like him.
maybe I will become
what he regrets the most.

In a frigorific and caliginous dungeon,
You ensconce me along with the dust.
Our flesh is so terribly pungent,
With the scents of a violent lust.

Two vile and barbarous lovers,
Indulging in our brutal embrace.
Teeth stained with vermillion colors,
As a baneful grin adorns your face.

You pounce upon me like your prey,
As I helplessly lie in pure rapture.
Mauling and kicking away,
You have me blissfully captured.

I am entombed in your grip,
As vermin between beastly jaws,
Leaving my heavenly ichor to drip.
Soon to be torn by bellicose claws.

Quaff the crimson from my veins,
Suckle at the jugular nectar,
For I shall bide in these chains
As a bloodless and pallid white specter.

On this algid brumal night,
As the moon was barely white,
She gazed so tenderly at me
With a stark and petrifying glare.

For on this eve of eldritch scare,
Her eyes have swallowed all the light,
As she set the shadows to roam free,
With a ruthless wicked glee.

The goddess of the dark and grim,
Softly crooning deathly hymns,
She fiercely rules the gloomy murk,
Commanding all the nightly devils.

In grisly sacrilege and death she revels,
On witching hours drab and dim,
When the crows and ravens chirk,
And her shadowed servants lurk.

My lord, pluck out my eyes, for I have seen,
A world of dazzling light, a cruel, bright sheen.
My ears, deaf now, to all the melodies,
For I have listened to the serpent's lies.

I've sinned, my lord, and loved the gilded lie,
And hated truth, with a contemptuous sigh.
A vision fair, a wonderment of sight,
Her song, a siren, stealing all my light.

She sings, and I, am captive to the sound,
My soul adrift, upon a treacherous ground.
Quoth I, a fool, entranced by her sweet grace,
Lost in her beauty, in her alluring space.

So, pluck my eyes, and seal my listening ear,
For in this world, I fear, I cannot steer.
From truth's embrace, my heart has turned away,
And now I crave the darkness, come what may.

Within the violence of my mind,
I had lost myself one hundred times,
Plagued by dreams of religion.
Born again— of *******—
Cursed to mourn ten thousand souls—
I had ******* softly.

Born of scorn and torment, riven;
Concubine of limp derision—
We merged as one with eternity.
Pain is mine— remain withdrawn—
Centuries cry weep-weep from war—
Mass graves of rigor mortis drift—
Illusion binds this godless rift.