A poem

Or at least, it is meant to be. I do hope this does not come across as excessively uncouth of me, and that is effect is not depressing. It was written in a moment of great internal suffering, but by the end a light shone on my path.

Contemplation of a Personal Sin

My demon passed me by this day,

A blurry face yet presence real;

He paused to laugh a circle round me,

Then disappeared into my mem’ry.

His power I had thought repressed,

His countenance a shadow’s shadow.

But today his pow’r was strongest yet.

He has no raving tongue, nor mouth

Agape with dripping blots; he stood behind 

As if a friend, or harmless bystander. 

But he commands whene’er he wills, 

And is stronger now then e’er before. 

What frightens most is simply this:

My own face wound in his malicious is.

How could a stranger and myself be one?

Yet he combines myself with evil foe.

I am the dreamer who wakes with fright,

And also the nightmare which frightens so.

I am the robbed and robber too.

I am the house divided which cannot stand - 

My demon and myself, both one and separate.

Dear God, the highest one, beyond myself,

Let me suffer pain, let me die at once

That he may pass away forevermore.

My demon’s face is mocking me,

He dares me try to strike him dead.

I tell him I’ll not do the deed,

I cannot, but my Father can.