Footprints in Sin

Footprints in Sin

A Poem by Christopher Michael Smith

Oh my God,

What went wrong?

I repeated the steps that I knew were flawed.

Ashamed of me, circumstance.

I danced with the Devil and then he clapped.

I watched me, could not control.

We humans are the weakest link of them all.

I took the breaths yet still went down.

Stretched below, underground.

Choices made in Ego's name.

Pointing fingers, laying blame.

Look at me, I'm so ashamed.

Once again, I defamed.

Lost in thought, can't retract.

Can't rewind and take it back.

 

Prints in sin trailing behind

No one carrying me, not so kind

Toes & arch & heel match mine

Footprints in sin keep following hehind...

 

Oh my God,

What went wrong?

Obeyed the master and now I fall.

God, please, can I reset this?

Can you, please, it won't be missed?

From all the weight I'm sure to crack.

Stress to offset the discs in my back.

I should have heard and listened to my heart.

Too late now, already added to the cart

Now it's sour, a throw away.

Predisposed, self betrayed.

I could not voice it.

The words went weak

Voiceless lips couldn't speak.

 

Prints in sin trailing behind

No one carrying me, not so blind

Heel & arch & toes match mine

These footprints in sin keep tracking behind

 

Oh my God,

What went wrong?

Feeling empty, all alone.

Footprints tracking within sin.

Following me through life again.

Time for a change, yes my friends.

I hope I can & understand.

Where in the Hell have I been?

Can't remember much, my light was dim.

Auto-pilot, Impulse life.

Why in Hell can't I get it right?

Heel & arch & toes match mine

No one carrying me, I'm not that blind

Prints in sin, time after time

Footprints in sin,

&

I know they're mine.....

© 2013 Christopher Michael Smith


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Added on September 16, 2013
Last Updated on September 22, 2013

Author

Christopher Michael Smith
Christopher Michael Smith

Clinton, NC



About
Ego sum qui sum - 'I am what I am' Poetry is my creative expression here upon this floating ball of dust called Earth. Nothing feels as appeasing as watching a pen glide across a virgin page, watc.. more..

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