Mea Culpa

The dark doesn’t
have anything on me.
A chasm black ears
aid not an eye see.

I am a phantom
to all tracing eyes;
explored deep see
God gave no reply.

Rebel to the sun
foreign are its rays.
I drab write words
some shun I display.

But the black it
is real and closed
is heaven’s gate
to me I suppose.

The great secret
to life is not here.
I summon the deep
in me to tame fear.

But here in dark
is a comfort born.
Clearly I see all our
soul’s do mourn.

Forgiver my Lord
all is tainted all lie.
The scorched earth
we’ll leave it is awry.

The seas I’ve sailed
have tossed furiously.
I’ve hung my head
over the rail curiously.

I’ll say I loved chaos
it gives off energy
that lights a fire in
all of my industry.

I am black I’m wry
when comes a storm.
For the sky flooding
my head is a norm.

The sun it has left me
for deep is incomplete;
the wanting of heart
in me constant seeps.

Conceit consumes I
take your joy gloom,
in recesses this heart
now hides all a moon.

Sorry I am not for all
die and turn to grey
and words we see or
read will slip away.

A fellow might be in
this gloom I exude.
Can a creator see us
not feel empty too?

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