I am a sinner, a sinful one,
but you oh Preacher,
should see most clearly.
You have traveled the same road as I,
and made an almost identical journey
up the same similar mountain.
Your nude feet have marched
a similar dusty path.
Surely, this piece,
of our younger days,
this peace confession
of a life ill spent.
This piss- beaten,
termite-eaten signpost
on the road we both knew,
should stir some familiar echo
in your mind.
Like a father’s favourite fairly-tale
heard again years after his death
or
the long-forgotten voice of a child hood friend,
heard again at his funeral,
sin has become
an all possessive obsession,
an obsessive compulsive disorder
and
like a block of ice left out in the sun,
I break up and melt
when temptation provokes.
In the very same river
where you once swam,
I now drown
like an oil-soaked sack of sand.
preach to me once more
preach preacher
my life sure needs a swing..