He restored my crown:
He whispered my name
to fame.
Like a Rose
I blossomed
and laughed.
I begged,
bled
and saw red.
Sigh.
I pierced His side
again.
I am a sinner.
Blame me the call
I failed to heed.
I danced to strange rhythm,
he played lead act in my encrypted script.
I fell,
to rise.
Lust gave in to penitence.
I failed the test, thrice,
but mercy never let me fail
to return home.
Lust is lost.
But he’ll return
and find no room
in my cleansed robe.
No viper in my bosom.
My crown is restored unto honour.
Lushly virtuous,
and at peace, I am royalty.
(c) Jennifer Ehidiamen
This poem is in response to "I tore my Robe."
Image via Gamma
