The Empty Confessional

Open the Door, I the Penitent,
Step into the Silence.
Mea culpa, Mea culpa,
This has all been My Fault.

Count the Beads,
Chipped Stone, Broken Glass.
Kiss and let them drop, one by one,
Onto the floor of the Empty Confessional.

Each Faceted Ave is another Transgression.
Each Gilded Pater is an aching memory.
They press patterns into my flesh as I kneel,
In my Graceless State.

I cannot hear the voice of god
Here in the cool black velvet dark.
But I suspect you are there, My Angel,
My Ghost behind the Grille.

Time has woven you a Vestment of Crimson and Purple,
Jeweled in Amber, Suspended in my Thoughts.
You are Voluptuous in piety, My Contemplative -
My Ascetic in the Desert

Absolution is not granted here,
But I am safe from the eye of god.
I will whisper my Trespasses into the empty air
And let them rise like incense to the Ages.


5/2010