The usual suspects

The usual suspects
 
My youth corrupted by the usual suspects;
the sprouting of tainted seeds already there.
 
I long ago stepped out into the weather,
trudged from past to present,
 
from fear to faith, from who I am
to Whom God has made and is yet making,
 
kenning with more clarity the transformation
and crediting more precisely from Whom it comes.
 
What does it matter if the poet
can’t find the proper descriptions
 
rummaging through his time-worn journals?
Truth is not found on ink-stained paper.
 
This poetry is assembled
one image at a time
 
as the light above blinks on and off;
faithfully transcribed until my pen runs out of ink.
 
O child of God, what a hodgepodge
of images from an age-encumbered mind.