No here, no there, no compass point but down,
All roads, all routes, all pathways end the same.
A shadow wanders in a foreign town…
Outcast! Exiled! A fugitive of shame!
How sharp the rock that strikes a fleeing back!
The soul runs shackled to its double, Sin,
Contrition is a lash’s whir and smack,
As the devouring darkness closes in.
Mother, whom thy Son gave me from His Cross,
Hath not thy lacerated heart a place
For one who wails his own salvation’s loss
And seeks the refuge of your soft embrace?
“Twas I who asked thy sovereign Judge to mend
Thy heart in mine: For, hell, it hath no end.”
From Sonnets for Heaven’s Queen © Joseph Charles MacKenzie. All rights reserved.