In faded colors and shades of gray,
images of those who passed
spill from boxes of old photgraphs
I should have left unopened and sealed,
before their faces again revealed
how they betrayed me.
Who will forgive them their sins?
Do they suffer or weep for me?
In death, did they
of what they did, or failed to do?
Who will hold me, mend me,
restore my soul and wipe my tears,
now that I have become undone?
Who will see me tremble, all alone?
Who will hear my confessions,
to me, and forgive me
for things I should have done
but did not do?