Will you enter this long sleep with clear conscience, exalted by your good works, camouflaged by your religion?
If you expect pointed fingers to catch you out, they won’t be mine. I’ve hurt my share of people, filled my own bucket with
The dregs of guilt and regret. If anything I will be the one to offer reconciliation, but without the artifice of narrow beliefs.
Think now on those you’ve wronged, those whose affections you’ve betrayed, while anyone without sin casts the first stones.
Will you yet be moved
By sleight of hand,
By hook or by crook,
Or consequences grand?
Will you yet be called
To arms,
To conscience,
Consequence, be damned?
Will you yet be taken
By surprise,
By force,
When violence commands?
Will you hold steady
Standing firm,
Taking stock,
As your conscience demands?
Maker of the bed
Keeper of stolen secrets
Woman of few regrets.
In the wee small hours,
Clichèd as it might appear
Her conscience is clear.
Affairs in order
Assignations underway
She sleeps, unconcerned.
justifiably angry
broken heart
pieces scattered
irretrievably lost
dissolved dreams
visions mattered
unerringly paired
soul’s mate
conscience scolded
tearfully rejoined
love’s patience
now rewarded.
No foe,
No adversary,
Is as merciless
Or as relentless
As one’s conscience.
No jury,
No court,
Can impose
A sentence as
Daunting as one’s
Own internal judge.
No time,
No distance,
Will erase the
Guilt of betraying
One’s own moral compass.
Praying for Eyebrowz 