“Is everybody in, is everyone within?
The reclamation shall without delay begin.
So now, my wounded child, bring forth thy troubled boy;
Do tell what instigated madness to deploy—
The scars inflicted or is there a dreadful sin?”

“O, holy noble one, my boy is but naïve,
I love him so, yet fearful am I to receive
His nature as it is—so queer, I do confess
My terror lies on what his sickness might express.
Expel this sin before damnation it achieves,
I beg, your reverence, so stay I might my grief.”

“Do not, my child, despair for promptly we shall clean
The vicious vice that stains your living and demeans.
I do declare that henceforward your boy shall be
A holy model for our Saviour’s Sympathy.
Luxuria shall no longer bribe thy addled teen,
For on but Gospel and thy keeping he shall lean.
Now close thine eyes; now pray for God’s Majesty, we.”

“Dear Mama, O, dear Papa, is this just pretence?
Is my unfeigned affection truly such a sinful masquerade?
Do not, your love for me, defuse the weight of my offence?
This flawed charade shall cause my spirit fade.
I am myself and nothing else—
The very same unarmed adolescent
Who stands in need of love that’s unconditional,
If not, I surely shall transform into a phantom lost.”

“O Lord Almighty, infinitely righteous God,
Your humble vassals kneel unworthy and applaud
Thy Majesty and beg our paltry prayers heard.”

“My parents dear, I hurt.
The scars my arm doth bear they burn;
The blood from mine own veins might flow once more
If this excision of my true identity persists.”

“Divine, my King, in Your Supremacy we kneel.
Expunge this evil hidden and, we pray, reveal
Thy Godly Prowess so this fallen child might glimpse
What Mercy Thee possess, and sing he may Thy Hymns.”

“O god above I humbly beg thy holy heed—
I’ve sinned, my soul within has stained from wasteful seed;
Partook, did I, in mindless devilish wanton needs.
My shameful exploits have provoked the devil’s thrill,
And thus, chagrin for brood and church, but endless will
To save my soul from hell and destiny fulfil.”

“My son, my boy, how thou have risen from thy fall.
My Lord, my God, how Thou have raised us, hopeless all.
Unworthy we, but evermore Thy praise we’ll hum.
Now, O my reborn son, do tell what will be come.”

“My parents dear, how I regret the shame I fostered on thy names.
I do repent and thank the lord and church; now worthiness I aim.
My eyes grow heavy, now to bed and pray the morrow’s light might heal
The shame. A cross, upon my closet doors, shall hang, and I within.”
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