no final pardon

i once had thought that i was hold, to stand, to run upon my own,

but little did i know this fallacy was all but set in stone;

it did not take famine or death, or depraved thoughts of 'ternal strife,

to show me how i lacked in love, was you to walk into my life.

but sorry, i could not impart upon you what should be my all,

instead i fumble, foolishly, and trip then stumble then to fall;

what left after the fretful scorn, that leaves with you such wretched haste,

an unpalatable disdain that warrants hateful, bile'd distaste.

so 'pon this eve, i beg and plead, that nothing more come wedged and 'tween,

that i may ask of you one thing, that absolution from my sin;

and if you will not grant me thus, fear it is that takes my soul,

for nothing more is left of me, and never 'gain can i be whole.

perhaps redemption is too high, and ask of you upon this nigh,

but that you 'tain perfection still, no man, no demon can deny;

instead to this perfection is upon my humble'd beck'd decree,

for nothing more, and nothing less, your pardon is what sets me free.

to what i hope is 'ternal love, and if there's more, than i submit,

that even god cannot but laugh, for this mere hope, should you see fit;

to grant this soul one last sweet taste, a breath of air before i drown,

i crave your word, your sweetn'd smile more than of gold, of life, and crown.

to all who may read, to all who may hear, i cannot love beyond once more,

away.

away.

away with me.

that you should give, i would implore.