I PLEAD FOR MERCY
Impale me, let me pay
The supreme price to
That which I owe death,
For my debts!
For am a hypocrite in
Thoughts:
I assume the mantle of
That which I never wore
That which I disdain
Takes side in my
Thought's,
I wish I could turn the
Broken bottle to an
Open Bible,
Impale me that I may
Redeem my honor and
Live never to die again,
For the dead die to live
A new, the penitent
Sinners were the saints,
Yet death is not a grief
But a Gift!
Silence slayed for a laid
Brother,
Am a poet possessed
With the seer of a
Prophet,
Impale me that I may
Not murder your sons,
And souls in me, for I'm
A holy hypocrite, what
Am not, is what I'm
The things i hate i tend
To do:
My spirit is willing, but
My blazing body is
Wavering!
Today my pen bleeds,
Because i bleat's in
Soul
We sail in a world of
Wilderness,
Where wildling wax on
Us,
Yet my far future sins
Were paid with his
Blood,
Impale me that i may
Sleep to wake, and see
That ceremonies in the
Cemeteries
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Imagery, but yet a reality of the soul