Whenever that 3 AM impulse
Stirs me free of fitful sleep
And urges me to clear the air,
and clear my name,
set records straight

It does me good to know
Two truths:

Were it merely a matter
Of my innocence proved
The King of the Universe
Would never deign die.
No number of layers
Could peel back revealing
Clean clothes at my core

Or yield perfect surface.
There are not enough curtains
To obscure my sins;
No blanket thick enough
To cover spilt blood…
Save One.

And –

War-makers will beat whatever
Old plowshares deemed fit
For wielding “righteous” fury.
Reputations make great weapons,
But I am not my reputation.
Anger’s keen to fill-in blanks

To service selfish purpose.
Evil never knows itself
And there but for the Grace, go I.
No word can slake the bloodlust…
Save One.