Sunday, August 09, 2009

At the Confessional

Beards of my wrongings

Are now too grey to dye.

Every cell in me

Is a contradiction of sorts;

This heart built pure

Is weighed down by fault.

I have visited goodness

With betrayal.

The saddest part of all is

I know that you know it well;

If my path had no thorns

I would not sin. Yet thorns

On my path are not

My smoothest foes,

The weak me unhanded

By life so grey, I am.

- Nnorom Azuonye

London 08-08-09

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