In the bad place, he
Turns to the mirror.
Sees his own falseness,
A stab to the heart.

Under the microscope
Of the mind’s eye
His trembling finger is guided, and points
To spiritual wrongs committed,
As of yet unrepented.

Thievery, betrayal, cowardice, hypocrisy, false witness.
All bared to the unforgiving light.
A drowning feeling pervades.
His struggling grows more weak,
As he cries out to the one he thinks he can never touch nor find.

In the lateness of his life, he pleads that he has learned.
Yes, he has learned,
And meekly asks for guidance out of these depths,
Now that he’s seen his own mortality.

Such is the lot that falls to so many:
Regret and repentance are pushed ever further away,
As if willed to be on a slingshot of time,
Whose tension is suddenly snapped,
Releasing the shot, in all of its impossible density.
A dark star into our conscience.

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