A Poem by ghosti

'sanctus, sanctus, sanctus'

                    - 'holy, holy, holy'

I attend the Mass,

Sitting in the farthest back pew. 

It is dark, it is both full yet empty,

The people converse in a language 

As dead as their eyes and hearts. 

You can feel their souls begging 

for some sort of forgiveness,

some sort of mercy and grace. 

If only the holiness around us

was enough to clean off our sins. 


                   - 'I renounce'

I am also there to beg-

I wear guilt and blood as a cloak. 

Stepping forward slowly,

I go to the altar, head bowed, 

My eyes are downcast as I wait. 

I wish to renounce my past mistakes,

To scrub the filth off of my hands. 

I have been tainted by the world

around me, I have let human cruelty 

corrupt and persuade me to hurt others 

for no reason beyond my own pleasure. 


                    - 'To embody'

Am I nothing but bloodlust and 

Fiery red suffering trapped in a body? 

Do I have no sense of right and wrong? 

I used to believe what I was doing

Was just and righteous, was good, 

But I was foolish and blinded by rage. 

Let the Father break me like the bread,

let the wine and blood save me. 

The taste of innocence is sickening, 

As if my body is rejecting repentance. 

Am I doomed to burn myself up, 

To scorch and sear the world around me? 

‘Mea culpa…’

                      - 'My fault...'

Do I need to get on my knees?

Do I need to cry and beg loudly in front 

of the altar, in front of this audience? 

Is the tears I've shed in private not enough?

Is the guilt and shame that weighs down

My soul and my heart not enough punishment? 

I am in eternal and spiritual suffering,

I have made my own hell in this life I live. 

'...mea culpa...'

                       - ' fault...'

There is a sword hanging above my head, father.

It screams and calls out for me, 

It wants me to wield it, to go to battle,

To enact further judgment upon your people. 

I do not want to do it. 

The metal is red enough- 

My hands are red enough-

I came to you for his blood, and that 

shall be the only kind that passes my lips. 

I have sinned enough, father, 

I cannot hurt any more people, 

Cannot take any more lives in my hands. 

The pain I have caused is no longer holy. 

I refuse to do it. 

'...mea maxima culpa.'

                           - ' most grievous fault'


            - the heart of war is broken during the Eucharist, their soul longing for a chance at a peaceful resolution. 

© 2022 ghosti

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Added on January 5, 2022
Last Updated on January 5, 2022




A young adult poet who writes out feelings. more..

no no

A Poem by ghosti