Black robes flap against graying
Sky; tears fall against ocean.
Crucifix in hand, he's pacing
The surf, keeping the lesion,
That slithers from foot to shin,
From rising above the cool brine.
He bears the scars of his sin
And looks for a holy sign
In the tossing sand and shell.
A sign to mark forgiveness,
To bring back the dead and to quell
The hell fires that rage and press
Against his soul. In darkness
And light, storm and shine, he never
Leaves the beach. In the recess
Of night, he'd sleep forever,
But for him it's forbidden.
For him there is only pain
And the memory of dark sin...
Copyright 2010 by David Alastair Hayden