The Sin Confessed, remembered, then forgave
Such as the winter whitened city streets
And I, compelled, stroll out– my soul to save
As walking in the cold some grace entreats
I grasp for reasons, visiting cafes
Pretending coffee somehow isn’t sin
As though the effort cleanses, not betrays
An answers lie without and not within
The coat, imagined burden– penance posed
And gloves– crusader’s armor fighting cold
Protection shed until the shelter’s closed
And back into the snowfall to behold
Communion caffeinated fuels the night
And sharpens senses passing through the white

About Rook

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