Penance

The wicked go not unpunished

For every evil has a judgment.

Justice must be served,

And that seems my only hope.

What redemption is there for me?

What penance must I pay?

If there is ever a thing that can right the wrongs

I would do it.

What if I don’t want forgiveness?

What if pardon is not the answer?

What if the only thing that can put my soul to rest

Is the payment of my debt?

And not just this one, but the millions before

And the millions to come?

Tell me, you Christians,

From where comes your peace?

How can you rest in your beds

While the Innocent pays for your crimes?

What laughter and rejoicing as you walk free

While there is no lash on your back

And no thorn on your brow.

Go ahead, you Christians,

And call me a pagan,

When I lament that your hands do not bleed

To replace the blood you drew.

Forgive me if I cannot rest

In the gift of grace

Knowing that another would die for me.

No free gift can gift me peace.

The debt must be paid, and by my own hand,

By my own back.

But what do I have to lay on the altar?

What do I possess that could ever satisfy?

What turmoil to bear to balance the scale

Of the turmoil I wrought?

What chains must shackle my hands?

What burdens must break my back?

What stone must I roll up the never-ending mountain?

To what bird must my side be exposed?

A life for a life seems right to me.

Perhaps that’s the way to save my sanity.

But maybe insanity is the price to pay.

Maybe the fires of hell are the cost of peace.