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TITLE: Stench
By Patrick McClure
11/15/05
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From the dirt and dust

We are made

Remain and roll around

In the mud, murky water

Wandering and wondering

How to be clean

Though we really don’t want to

Consider the cause and

True condition of our souls



Clothing covers our

Concealed and camouflaged

Selves, suffering disease

And dankness that pervades

The person who imposters.

Cologne and perfume mask,

Odor is suppressed from public

But privately we reek

With guile, regret



Stubbornly we sit in a cesspool

Dive down and submerge ourselves

Sullenly, suffering

An illusion of lumination

Dark and dirty instead

Insane to the necessity

Of nothing more than

An honest nakedness

Before a man, a king

Reaching out a bare

Hand to bathe

And baptize, make clean

And continually protect

From the dirt and dust

Which reaches crevices

Concealed and undetected by others

A stench immeasurable

Stinging the nostrils of Christ

Who Alone can cleanse
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