Clothed In Honour

The tear in these rags gives observers a start,

Though they cannot observe the rips in my heart,

For these rags-too hardy, remnants torn apart.

Cold steps of the church, don’t want to be found,

But I’m lonely and tired and long to lay down

On the steps of this church, where my heart weeps to be found.

I am clothed in rags, I’m hungry, downhearted,

My emotions are tarnished, destination not charted,

 I'll shoulder the weight till my hearts long departed.                    

Ethics-I’m poor, yet my heart discerns wealth,              

Though, crude are these rags, stitches of my health,

To the mirror, I cannot acknowledge myself,

 A carnival of thoughts re-fuelling the madness, 

With a circus of torment and force-fed gladness.

This dilapidated fortress cannot keep out the sadness.

I am friendless, bewildered, a ship in glass, 

  Looked at and spat at, no questions asked,                          

This anguished repentance, how long will it last?                       

In the eyes of you all, fortunes I’ve not,

Yet still I can walk, and yet still I can rot

And yet still I can ponder the life I have lost,

I am clothed in honour, a patchwork of sorrow

But yesterday was shapeless and I can’t see tomorrow,

So I look to my heart, it is she I must follow,

With the Lord I will walk, he’ll ordain my path

I will not right my own epitaph              

But I can’t help but wallow in scenes from the past,

 I’ll fight cruel adversity, for the sake of my life,

For the sake of my maker, I’ll banish this strife

And banish the thoughts cutting me like a knife,

 Naïve as I am, to this world I am sombre

Vanity and fortune are needed no longer

For now I walk, clothed in Honour.