I'm sorry.
Advancing this apologetic,
seems unapologetically appropriate.
The inner voice has been stilled,
by another voice deep within.
How can I tell you where I've been?
Or what road I've taken,
what things I've seen?
To bequeath my learnings,
I've ignored my 'other' yearnings,
my pen has been inkless,
unperturbed I've been lost in a journey,
of soul restoration, thought renovation
and life transformation.
A journey I've taken,
to ancient Words, long preserved,
written to adjust
our life here on earth.
Will all pass away?
The doubt of an answer due,
is a result of the eternity hue,
built deep within our humanity cue.
As a clue,
the evidence is glaring,
that I'm sorry isn't sorry enough,
My pen has been without ink.
Some have criticized me of elephants pink,
that my expressions have been.
Yet they know not,
the inner witness within,
that speaks of better things,
than my pen can fashion in between,
birth and death.
Maybe sorry isn't why I write,
Just a Wednesday morning rite,
for me to lay down my thoughts as a writer's right.
Perhaps the passage of time will prove,
that indeed I'm sorry isn't enough,
To make up for a lifetime's un-worth?
Perhaps the quiet,
will speak of better things,
and strive to be heard,
when the soil becomes a home,
so that east or west,
it is best;
beyond life,
then words will continue to be written,
heard, shared, discussed, experienced,
they will remain
to gladden,
to sadden,
to brighten,
to darken,
but the true Word
will forever speak,
and witness for himself,
and our sorries will find real meaning,
on the Calvary cross,
the piece of wood where I'm sorry,
was received for an eternal pardon,
saved, sanctified and glorified,
our journey will find meaning,
when there'll be no more sorries.
