by Robert Grymes

Created on: May 04, 2008

A Viper's Final Contrition

Who am I that I should believe my own thoughts meaningful?

What foolishness and vanity do so copiously dribble from my haughty parted lips?

Wisdom in those whose time has come, and the penitent who bore witness to my reckoning
I've leaned, and crawled though life as if my own wisdom where all I needed
Unto my heart have I so oft placed complete and utter trust in all matters of life...

When feelings are hurt and emotions run the gambit, which is at fault if the dealer wins?

In so untimely a fashion did I hastily bring forth the empty platitudes from my vain reserves
Could I be blamed for my own ignorance, and to what degree am I held accountable?

For all that have been led astray in their hour(s) of need when all I posited was just this
Please Stay!

I implore you, don't leave me to my own devices; I can't bare the fires of self-immolation!

Who foresaw the many times I so willingly forsook my birthright.

When in times of trouble to whom did I turn?

In times of gain, and abundance to whom did I give praises?

In quiet moments, where did my passions for life align?

If there were no other, would You still be first in my mind?

If I couldn't give graciously,
Lest I find no meaningful return on squandered investments,
Would I still voraciously consume the spoils?

Then again, I am but human, a child born of sinful commingling, destined to walk the Earth a strange thing.

These and too many more missives take hold of my mind, my heart, and tear at my soul.

The very fiber of my being screams a silent outpouring for your mercy and unconditional love
Why then have I not had the eyes to see, the heart to touch nor an able ear to hear your Love's Song?

My eyes have been blinded by the allures of the flesh,
My heart hardened by the many slings and arrows
My ears too full of the effulgent sarcasms that come so readily to my viper's lips and adder's tongue

In the beginning, there was but one choice,
The choice was simplistic at best,
Confoundedly so.

What stories would be regaled in the annals of time,
About my exploits and misdeeds?

How many times did I try and right myself,
Winding down so skewed a path of righteous self-serving indignation?

Toward the final Escheton I merrily skip so sure in my destination,
So full of unspeakable evils gaily enjoyed and ever near to my mind's eye.

This just won't do,
What can I believe to be true about myself,
When all I have brought forth into this world are lies?

The charming of the snake,
The taming of the shrewd,
All this effort wasted on pointless endeavors,
All this air exhausting the flames fiery consummations.
All This and More hath been brought to my pained reckoning.

But to who should I turn,
To what will I concede to be true?

To Him I may turn,
Even in my darkest hour,
He is still there,
Dressing my wounds,
And tending to my fractured heart.

Learn more about this author, Robert Grymes.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.