Sweet, Holy Providence

Thank you for road blocks,
For cold stops,
For forced glances at clocks,
For sin is crouching at the door;
Sin – such as I adore;
Sin – donning such masks as
Joy and peace and
Satisfaction. Finally, though, they fall off.
Every mask falls off.
And what is left exposed? Only this:
The bitter taste of counterfeit bliss,
The savory stench of a stolen kiss
Placed upon the lips of death.
That road is always a dead end,
And there is always, in the ignorant mind,
Time to turn back.
So thank you for forced glances
At the minute hand as it dances,
For cold stops on cold nights,
For road blocks that open up the way
To the true Road.


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