“Blemishes of Imperfection”

They have cluttered my heart,
Like crows scattered across the sky on a summer’s day.
They sprout endlessly like weeds vomited by the soil;
And the serpent continues to breathe life into them with its silent hisses.

How could his only begotten son be so pure?
How did he avoid inhaling the stale air of sin that lingered in the atmosphere,
Clogging the lungs of those that had once beamed with the light of righteousness.
“He took heed of the holy word of God,” it is said.

Well I tried feeding on those holy words ravenously,
Hoping to nourish myself with purity and virtue.
But I’m still feeble and weak as I bear this vile, cloak of blemishes.
I feel like a caged bird; and my redemption song joins the whispers in the air without being heard.