Sins Of Our Father Poem by tina mishael

He has sown sins. Harvest will not be a blessing.
How can we gather fruits when they have bitter seeds spitting repulsive smells into the humid air?
He was baptized in the waters of the true religion but he forgot his pledge to the decree of yestayear.
Each chapter of his life was clothed in white ink but he couldn't stay away from small joys.
In death there's no regret neither was there salvation for guiltless, estranged children.
They can only reap tears, misty lives, dark, murky waters that ripple in chaos spelling the chasm of stormy days.
The thunder bellows and the rain roars, each strand hitting the roof like an angry soldier.
The gathered pools assemble like old men, dirty and tired, hiding the cracked pavements and the hallels of the cello flouncing down earths alleyway.
In the end, his lies lost the war and his heart gave way, while his poor decisions gave birth to pregnant threnodies.
They cannot erase the stars though.They'll still shine, even upon the blind anemones.
Hope.