Bowed head, folded hands,

Begging God for one more chance.

Forgiveness: that is all you need,

Mercy: it's for this you plead,

You're not worthy, this you know,

But with just one word, God's mercy flows.

You feel alone, and your heart breaks,

Silence is all that it takes,

Oh, you child of the Lord,

Pick yourself up off the floor.

Brush away impurities,

In front of God, fall on your knees.

There's always a second chance

To get up and try again.

Forget the right, you only know the wrong,

**Before I start I want to ask that you please, please don't make your comments into a debate. Just keep it friendly and respectful. Etc.**

In regular school, this feeling I'm having right now was very familiar. Sweating palms, pounding heartbeat, a kind of rush in the ears that after a few minutes I realize is the sound of my own heavy breathing. This happens whenever I am a combination of scared and impassioned, when I find that I must raise my hand and say, No, this is wrong! And then, class would end and I would turn to writing as my outlet.

Flowing tears, healing tears, strip away fears
for reaching hands, that love the man
beneath the scars, like shattered stars
holds tight to hope, with heartbreak notes
the sorrow held, because they fell
but long for more, knees on the floor.
Father hold them, come and show them
mercy meets them, where "forgive me" stands.
Down from Heaven, breaching chasm
between who I could be, and who I am
Offering of grace, for them for me
more than we could imagine
more than we could dream
and I pray you grant us

“From the womb before the daystar I begot you.”
-Psalm 110: 3

Before I was born I was acknowledged;
In the mind of God I dwelt.
He planned my whole life, all that would happen,
And on my angel knees I knelt.

For some say we were angels before humans;
But then how can I tell?
I knew nothing, I remember nothing,
Only God knows what befell.

So then one day I came into being,
And human was now my guise.
Hidden in the womb of my own mother
God looked with love on me, His prize.

I don’t know why I did it.
I wish I hadn’t.
She used to trust me, and I broke that trust.

“If they catch us, they’ll think you’re the spy,” She’d said. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
I looked away from her, ashamed at what I knew.

I watched as they kicked her awake, then put a sword to her throat. I wish I could’ve done something then to save her, but I wasn’t ready to risk my life. As they hauled her to her feet, fear shone in her eyes. She glanced at me.
And I looked away.

From the beginning
I loved you
I painted you a picture
And put you in it
And I loved you

You blackened my picture
Still I loved you
Darkness covered my picture
The darkness of lust
And I loved you

I sang you a song
For I loved you
To woo you back to me
You covered your ears
Yet, I loved you

I reached into your picture
I loved you
I painted joy for you
Even in the blackness
For I loved you

“Ivy Street. It’s on Ivy Street.” Katrin Lewis repeated these words over and over to herself as she navigated through downtown Philadelphia. “Ivy Street.” The words made her shiver every time she thought of them. The name implied a quiet, pretty street, probably in the upper class part of town. Yet Katrin knew that Ivy Street was probably a dark an secluded alley lined with abandoned warehouses in the ghetto of Philadelphia. It was exactly the kind of street they would send her too.