Release

The many sad mistakes I’ve made
March like a maddened parade
In front of me, they laugh and pass
Like ghosts within my looking-glass
They taunt me and torment my mind
Reminding me that they will find
Me, when I’m weak or feeling low
Cold and cruel, this phantom show

I close my eyes and stop my ears
To block their cries and mocking sneers
And just as I’m about to fall
A victim to their heartless call
I sense a Presence in the room
Lingering, like a sweet perfume
Victory, sweet, sweet release
I fall into His arms of peace

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Janet Martin