Used to walk through the mud,
A frown on my face,
Because it would spread,
Get all over the place,
Reach up to my ankles,
And that was enough.
I would feel sullied,
And long for your love.
When was it, oh Lord,
That I plugged my nose,
Tested the temp
With the tip of my toes,
And with abandon
Sank up to my eyes?
When did a mudbath
Of a sudden seem wise?
When did the falsehoods
I used to ignore
Become a dear friend
I'd let in my door?
I thought I was smart,
Oh so mature.
I'd run at the whistle
When Satan would lure,
Thinking I was too good
To be taken in.
Little I knew
That was my biggest sin.
And so my mudbath
Here with the facts
I thought couldn't hurt me,
If I would relax;
We can't separate,
We've become one.
I think I'm stuck here
To cook till I'm done.
Who would've thought
That I, of all chumps,
Could be taken in
By these muddy sin lumps?
I wanna be clean,
Innocent like before.
I'm sick of my dirt,
Tracking mud on the floor.
I feel like I've lost
Who I once was.
And it hurts to know that
I myself was the cause.
So I am asking
In one final plea:
God, make me innocent!
Wash my mud, set me free.
postscript
This one is not so much a masterpiece of literature. This, as so many of my poems are, is a prayer from the heart. I was thinking to myself, and lamenting, that I have learned so much as I've grown older, and some of it I wish I didn't know. The world bombards me with so much that destroys my innocence, and alas, I'm willing.