I'm sorry

Upon my soul, a shadow lies of deeds I can't recall Without a chill, a sudden vice, to mourn their bitter fall. The Raven's cry, "Nevermore," seems whispered from the gloom, A constant echo at my door, a sentence in my room. The spectral pain I caused to thee, doth haunt my waking sight, A specter of what used to be, now drowned in endless night. But hark! A flicker in the dark, where sorrow held its sway, For in this prison of my heart, I strive for brighter day. With heavy hands, I chip the stone of this self-wrought despair, To build a life, better known for virtue, truth, and care. Though lost the grace that once was mine, I plead thee, see A penitent on this dark shrine, who labors to be free.