Dear God,
I lost my way.
Not again, fool, you think.
I thought I had it all planned, but,
It's hell.
Alas!
There comes a time
When fools stand before worlds
Thinking they can make a difference.
Oh, woe!
What hope
Is found in this?
What else can be salvaged?
What can a mortal offer God?
False hope?
But wait:
I lay it down,
My foolish dignity.
Do with it what you will. Oh God.
Remain.
Dear God,
This fool is free,
Humbled, with contrition.
Freely, relieved, relinquishing
Its hell.
postscript
Cinq-Cinquain for DFC day 21. This is a French form with five stanzas of five lines with a syllabic count of 2-4-6-8-2. [link]