as he opens the door to this room of debauchery
a chill runs the length of his existence
perhaps this will be his last battle?
his grip around the leather bound book tightens
while his other hand reminds him of the pistol
tucked in his belt
weepy eyed souls frightened by his presence
cry out for redemption
but no, oh no he makes this journey not for
the lost souls of stragglers
hardened lovers of the lust glare at him
with defiance and indignation
but no, oh no he is not here to cast stones
to bring theses sinners to the justice of the throne
he seeks the one
he seeks the empty promise that abandoned him
he seeks the traitor who threw him to the dogs
he seeks the architect of his waterloo
no longer guided by the righteousness of his soul
the hand of revenge now outweighs the hand of virtue
will grace save him, after the fall?
the clinging odor of doubt surrounds him now
his mind aglow with faint memories of words unspoken
trying to remember lines of scripture tossed into the fire of time
the room now spins as the moment of justice nears
a low dirge rolls out of mouth working its way to his feet
a funeral song of regret he now sings with shaken courage
never would he have imagined it, this moment frozen
death has been invoked from the shadows
nothing will escape this room of despair
he reveals the one
the one who walks in betrayal
the one who spins the web of deceit
the one who kneels at the alter of vanity
himself
