Beauty and truth in ashes lie,
Humility and chastity now a rarity,
In pride and only pride I think myself wise,
Are virtues now a scarcity?
In cowardice again and again I die,
Courage, faith, and love I lost in all capacity,
When I held my image above the God I often hide,
My eyes are gouged, I am blind to my depravity,
From time to time, He often chides,
O my son, how your soul rots in satan’s villainy,
It is not I my Lord, but the devil made do it, I doth lie,
Liar liar, your pride it stinks and reeks like decaying cavity,
O father, strip my pride and rectify our love, unto thee I surrender all of me
Image Credit: The Painter, 1882, by Vincent Van Gogh