Show me the errors of my ways.
Trace my footprints in the sand
back to that place where first
I tended in the wrong direction,
the waves crashing at my back,
your wind propelling me on a course
I mistook for fate.
Help me understand my sin.
Train your mighty microscope
upon the elements of my soul
and find therein
the seeds of my distemper.
Call it dirt, or grit, or dust.
Call it what you must.
Point to it at the same time...
with that crooked finger
that points at every thing in every way.
Please, I beg you,
show me the nature of my sin
and I will confer blessings
upon you and all your kind.
flickr photo by ezioman
~
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