The Whisperer
The Whisperer,
All too easily
Finds those dark corners,
Not only of my mind, but of my heart
And of my soul.
It is a slow penetration
That can be so destructive,
Feeding on my self-pity,
Or my greed,
Or my lust,
Or my arrogance,
Or my vengefulness,
Or any other evil notions
That might prise me away
From goodness and righteousness.
It is like a cancer
As it spreads
From the moment of its conception
In the dark,
Worming its way
From one deep recess to another
In my little trinity of individuality.
Once it has taken hold
It is only by your grace, dear Lord
That light can expose the darkness
As it seeks to pervade
The next level of my dis-ease.
Then, by that grace,
I can be released through repentance
And the miracle
Of your bearing even these sins,
Which, without the gift of your crucifixion,
Would capture me,
Engulf me,
Make me want to wallow in them
And finally destroy me
By my self-centred revelling.
O Lord, I marvel that I can be free.
Through your forgiveness.
