Our Convalescence Hangs on Mercy but Begins with Forgiveness

I rewind & rewind.

Again, it proves fruitless.

It’ll never matter

what my intent was.

Good.

Or bad.

Righteous or wicked.

Because it came from a blind state.

More incomplete,

than inadequate

is my emotional & spiritual palate.

Redevelopment

is taking quite some time.

Passing hours bring fright.

Fear directs eager blessings through blasphemous detours.

The void I prevent the blessings from filling

can only be filled by,

not Love,

but superfluous pride.

The blessing

IS Love.

The hardest part is

dropping my hands.

They’ve been up for so long.

Too long.

My fallen mask reveals that

with every whispered greeting

over each injured link.

My forgiveness will rescue me.

It will comfort me,

be the source of my approaching smile.

It will promise me LIFE.

It will give me many moons of

back-breaking

heart thriving

spirit-lifting

WORK.

A bondage so sweet.

A slave’s effulgence emerging

in spite of

tattered memories.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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