The priest did not sleep well
that night,
he thought of hell,
and he mentally walked away from God’s light,
he felt the flame burn,
unable to sleep,
he tossed and turned
as the angels would weep,
he just couldn’t get comfortable,
as visions of Jesus falling off the cross
filled his head,
faith tossed,
the priest wasn’t dying,
but he felt the dead,
he wasn’t insane,
but he was in danger,
and in so much pain,
when he awoke,
he was covered in sweat,
his hair a mess,
and the sheet was clinging to his chest,
mind tipped, crucifix ripped,
and he wasn’t concentrating,
he felt as if he were suffocating,
he called out God’s name in the darkness,
God did not reply,
the priest would no longer try,
he’d just cry,
guilty, and he knew why.