Volume > Issue > Possessed

Possessed

A POEM

By Charles R. Fink | September 1984

My God, I’m grieved to say it is not true:

Not true I desire naught else but you.

I’d gladly own the world, so great’s my greed;

And this despite your flesh on which I feed.

Yet I’ll possess no treasure, great or small,

Till you, and you alone, become my all

In all. Meanwhile I’ll bow to all I crave

At its behest. Accordingly, enslaved,

The more I have, the more I’ll be possessed.

You are my only hope. I have confessed

That hundredth part of sin I know in me.

Lord, for these and all my sins, have mercy.

Oh, grant that I may worldly things eschew;

Not wanting them, I’ll have them all in you.

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