by Jerry Buckley
Father, forgive me, but… I have not “sinned”
I have guarded this body, a temple of the Lord
Neither smoking nor indulging much wine or strong drink
I have kept my form, while others lounged and grew soft
But I have sweltered on pavements, and sweated at the gym
While pursuing the most sensible of well balanced regimes
I have pleaded my case; my family prays without ceasing
That I should be restored to my former wholesomeness
Adrift, a hermit in my own domain, I inhabit a barren landscape
Of what should I repent? To whom shall I make appeal?
These demoralizing treatments have cannibalized my vivacity
Chemicals invade each corner of this temple I have swept clean
I have kept your instructions, navigated the narrow pathways
To and from your house, in cheerful praise of your name
I have encouraged my entrusted, in the ways they should go
Gazing wistfully over Jordan, as they set their courses
Each to its own; unlike Lot’s wife, none have looked back
Nor found reason to debate, as did your faithful servant Job
So now, I lay me down to sleep; pray the Lord my soul to keep.
To eternal rest? To a city foursquare set above the bright blue?
Into regeneration? Where all former things shall be made new?
Or linger on line awaiting judgment to be anointed and received?
So hear my lamentation, pardon my perplexity and reassure
Do I reap dividends from my trust fund or withdraw to walk away?
Last updated October 19, 2015