The Power Of Plea-Se Poem by Bruce Gashirabake

I hereby pen down this plea,
Plea for an intentional flee,
One that enchants my heart to be free,
A feeling that stops me-I can read.

I lean my back and look up,
And my guilt creeping can't stop,
I despair for pardon to pop,
But only when I pen them down will it come.

I wronged, cautiously knowing it was,
And took no reflective time to pause,
But in euphoria treaded that path with an applause,
A memory that in my head I can't quite close.


These walls stare with judgy eyes,
The sound of condemnation is from the flies,
Watching in taunting stare are the skies,
All whose now dark arrays I despise.

I look at these cold souls night me,
And a sound I would love to utter is of plea,
Yet so unresponsive and so alien to me,
Me-whose soul longs escape yet can't quite get any glee.

Oh, Father, How I am…
I can't get the words out-some,
As they are heavy for me yet I want to calm,
Yet my determination, my zeal is not so firm.

I try again-Oh Father….
Now it's worse, I can't get any further,
My heart is like with a stone hanging brother,
One that I try to remove and there comes another, and another.

I will persist! Father, I am sorry,
Yea-words I wanted to utter are the very,
And now in my heart I can find merry,
Since that guilt, so filthy and numbing, is to perish.

Unto you friends I admonish,
These few words, short yet so powerful, can cleanse,
Even Guilt and Remorse that become intense,
Or the time when you fence your heart hence finding in them some sense