Confession

An Italian sonnet ( or at least an attempt at one )

Oh ancient weaver of sacred dreams
Retire now to sanctuary so sweet.
It is in this place we all shall meet
A refuge where things aren't as they seem.
A growing number of fallen leaves
Along deserted avenues and abandoned streets.
The bell tolls long for the new, fresh meat
For a timeless sinner deserves a chance to redeem.
We must bear our cross to cleanse our hearts
Clutching the black and white necklace of beads.
A sinner repents his ways and begins a new start
With never ending prayers and memorized creeds,
And dwells in the shadow of God; His call we heed.
Only to sin again, and stumble through the dark.