The house is silent when I rise.
The world is sleeping. I surprise
the cat who’s napping on the floor;
but no one hears her startled cries.
I rub my sleepless eyes, still sore,
and find the handle on the door
to where I now the task conclude;
what I do now, I’ve done before.
I kneel in humble servitude.
It’s not a prayer of gratitude;
forgiveness is my goal tonight,
and tears foray my solitude.
I’ll pay the price to make it right,
to find acceptance in God’s sight,
and cross that bridge that spans the tide
between remorse and pardon’s light.
I know that on the other side
our spirits hungered to be tried,
and clothed in mortal flesh we seek
what earth alone can us provide:
our choice, to come among the meek,
to be like God. We often speak
of how His plan has made us free;
but will is strong, while flesh is weak.
We did to life on earth agree.
To school the body is the key;
so from our birth, the plan begun,
we practice what we are to be.
The souls atoned for by His Son
are flesh and spirit joined as one.
Alone, the spirit can’t repent;
without the flesh, the plan’s undone.
To claim our souls, if penitent,
a loving Heavenly Father sent
and wept for Him He would not spare
that night the temple veil was rent.
My broken heart, He can repair.
The Savior waiting guards with care
the bridge that crosses to my goal;
I know He hires no servant there.
To cross I’ll gladly pay the toll,
my broken heart and contrite soul.

This poem represents my best attempt to portray the experience of the truly penitent as he or she confesses a sin. There is more to repentance than experiencing the contrition and remorse that leads to forsaking the sin. Without confession to God (and sometimes to an appointed judge in Israel), repentance is incomplete. Also very important to repentance is the sinner’s understanding of the role repentance itself plays in God’s plan. No one can escape it. The weakness of the flesh makes us incapable of progression without it. We are constantly repenting. But the experience represented here is more than the “oops-I-made-a-bit-of-a-mistake-and-I’ll-do-better-next-time” repentance that happens almost daily in our lives. I wanted to recall here the kind of repentance that requires going humbly before God, the kind that requires a significant investment in time and reflection, the kind that results in struggle and tears. I tried to include all the principles associated with the doctrine of repentance without making a list, and without losing the intensity of the emotion. I’m not sure I’ve succeeded. Of all the poems on my site, this is the one that came closest to joining others that fell short and so were not included. I finally decided to include it as much for the sake of it’s formal properties as for its message—which may be a poor reason. I wanted a poem that would connect every part of this kind of repentance to every other part in a way that made the experience inseparable into parts—if that makes any sense. That’s why I chose the somewhat peculiar rhyming scheme: aababcbccdcddedeefeff…etc. You may recognize it as the same scheme Robert Frost uses in his poem “Stopping by a Wood on a Snowy Evening”, the one that begins thus: “Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though. He will not see me stopping here to watch his woods fill up with snow.” It is always difficult to keep to a complex rhyme scheme without having to insert a few superfluous elements that make the poem sound a bit forced. Frost’s poem certainly doesn’t sound forced. If mine does, then I’ve not been successful, and I humbly beg your pardon.