Ancient words
devoutly sung
stung my heart today.
“Sin had left a crimson stain
you washed me white as snow.”
New thoughts flung
old meanings away.
Could this image apply
to the stain on my soul
inflicted by another’s sin
condemning me to wander
barren earth in shame?
How would you wash
such stains?
I long to believe
you would wash them
with your tears.
Your angry, tender tears.
Oh God, cry over me
and this out-out-damn-spot
left by another’s greedy gain.
Oh, that you would wash me
with your tears—
a hot, enraged flow—
until I am free of stain,
clean again,
white as virgin snow.