Grace

Once more, those saints of heaven's fatal light
implore an image of despair. They task
the lost to find their way, while groping down
its narrow path. Their dark intension's wreak
of death. Their mask of pious glee, can't hide
their foolish guilt. Assured, despite a strike
against my soul, in spite of those who wish
me ill, a debt surpassing that of wealth
was paid on my behalf. Then grace was placed
in reach of me, by hands with crimson glow.