as I catch a glimpse of your image on a stained glass window
your arms thrown open in triumph in heaven's embrace
I once again stop and wonder: am I still worthy of your grace
or have I brought you shame when I can no longer bring myself to face you
if I may confess, I've grown envious of you – of the purity of a saint
one of the closest to sinless as it is on earth
the bliss of being recognized in idealized concepts
instead of deplorable, flawed personhood
my heart stirs at the thought of a chance for it
a redemption, a meaning better than what I am now
if I could, I would gladly bleed out for someone else
I would absolve us both, and our planet would continue to spin
and I'd be free to live on only in ideas and parables
but I don't think I deserve such mercy anymore
and I'm sure you'd call me selfish for humoring it
not everyone gets to die as noble and pure
some of us can only find redemption in carrying our sins with us
to feel the weight of the consequences for the rest of our lives
and that's only if we deserve such kindness at the end.