What do you bring to the confessional?
Wasted hours; a kind thing undone,
and another, and another; or some
singular crime, a thought or deed
that left a wound, some innocent
bereft of confidence and cheer?
Have you taken what was not yours
to keep; kissed one not yours to claim?
Or is it deeper, darker than these?
Did you see your path was cold
and steep, so turn an easier way?
Have you scoured your heart of love,
set it to harden in a kiln of rage?
Drop it on the tiles, then. Let it break.