With my head sheltered, hiding from the rain
I kneel; bowing, in piteous refrain.
Regretful in memory, my heart tears with agony.
I am frozen with loss, of my broken sanctuary.
What is this pain that spears me so?
Does it dare spit in my wounds of woe?
Me as frail as a child; I am but a king.
My eyes bear weakness, to the sorrow it doth bring.
Anaemic in strength, my fortress is of straw,
Tumbling with one knock as it falls to the floor.
I shudder with anguish from the heartache I conceive,
Of lovers' lost trials and my impregnated grieve.
Let it be known, that I, with inclined enervation,
Have succumb to beckoning fears and lawless obligation.
And shattered my Soul's fight for inner renovation!
What is this illusion of happiness that I have yet to concede?
Why does it overcome me and poison me with words of honesty?
Am I not ail, and therefore with crooked lies I have tread,
And wandered through the valley of darkness from which I have bled.
Ignorance leaves me bliss, but ignorant I am not.
Troubles of which I reminisce, I have not forgot.
A plea from the tainted, fragile sinner,
To forgive the filth that lives within her!
My body is sheltered, yet it walks through the hailstorm.
Its battered remains have left it bludgeoned and deformed!
At last petition, I call out to thee – I beg upon ye to answer me.
But none do hear my plea; for I am a ghost of my tragic, frail memory.