Ledger

Hither where my soul lies dying, throttled by the winds of change, hobbled by the wrath of ages till nothing but a gasp remains, there abides a wisp of pity tempered with a shred of grace, an iota of compassion on this saint/sinner's face. I'm not meant to meet my maker till I've done what I must do to set the ledger book to zero, clear my credits, debits too; then will I be granted access, pity, grace, compassion nixed, I won't need exoneration, all my feats and foibles fixed.