Turning Point

  My God, my God,
 why  
 have I forsaken You?
 —fleeing from the cross,
 nothing but my odious self within my sweaty hands,
 thirsting after bitter pleasure,
 running—blind—into the city,
 where my undoing surely
 will be finished?
 
Why would I continue to
 refuse Your love—
 the lesser agony of surrender—
 for such a shattered state?
 My God, my God,
 why
 have I forsaken You?
 
 
 Lord, forgive me, for
 I knew not what I did.