Contrast

Repentance cringes at the past
since God detests the rot of it
that reeks of death. The blot of it
warns us beware of each contrast.

We’re thankful though that didn’t last.
We saw in time our wretched ways.
Where would we be if all our days
continued on mechanically
when seeing meant we didn’t see?
Such gratitude’s the source of praise.

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Tags: Decima, poetry