My Soul, Like a Wicked Father

      My soul, like a wicked father,
      Has been robbed, left, quiet and near dead
      At the blank side of the road,
      A tripped-up bundle of old clothes, old lives,
5     Old faces, an offshoot
      Of what is left alive;
      Of all things that move,
      Unmoving, a thing.
      What has left my soul like this, abandoned
10    And near death, this deathless thing
      That has returned like a swan in its bearing
      To stare at my face? What can be left
      For a face to recognize, a face left,
      Like the soul, wicked and robbed,
15    By the side of the road, in earth's detrius,
      Washed of its prim innocence by these giving sins,
      Breathing, when noticed
      In the brief abrupt ambulance light
      Into a pool of cold water, into its own face,
20    a disturbed mirror?

From the collection "Hymns"

Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]

More information available on gregglory.com.