The Priest

all within Septembers field
cassocks tear as fabrics yield
those choices made with posture bowed
whispered then, but not aloud

inner values churn and bite
his blackened robes then fit too tight
decisions flow like times slow sand
then fabric tore and took my hand

away this wrong I wished from sight
where pressures flood from darkened light
survive must I, but courage borrow
crushed that day to keep tomorrow