If we say we’re sorry does it matter
After words and actions have been cast?
Can three words to two, abbreviated,
Negate or qualify all that has passed?
Wouldn’t actions best portray the penance,
A meal prepared, a cup of tea, a kiss?
Yet distance in the hurting won’t allow such,
So words become what demonstrations miss.
Shouldn’t it be natural and normal
To mend the path when broken, disrepaired?
Yet, sometimes, we have not the tools within our armour,
Many times we’re so ashamed or scared.
It’s no wonder, in this world, disharmony can flourish,
Between two or three or nations overall,
We bluster and we feign, no slight embarrassment,
When we stumble, fumble, mumble, drop the ball.
I’ve never been a player in the big league,
Very few can claim their name in hall of fame.
Really, that should make humility easier, but
Pride and prejudice are barriers just the same.
I wonder, in the history of beings,
If deletions to our pride and words were possible,
If more relationships of many types would not have floundered,
If opportunities for apology had been taken well instead of not at all.
Just some musings, as I think on idly, speculating,
Of all the people in my life to whom I may have caused offence,
In passion’s angry words, that now seem so absurd,
‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem to cut in self-defence.
It’s a scary prospect when all words we’ve spoken
Are written in the hearts for all time to come,
Nothing can delete nor fully make the sorries quite complete.
But, just the same, to sorry we surely must succumb.
In churches, towers of strength and mighty structures,
‘I’m sorry’ takes proportionate penitence
In ever being wrong, in admitting weak in strong,
In bowing head and making recompense.
So, does it ever really make a difference
If actions, words are out there running wild,
Cannot recorral nor free the broken,
Can only castigate as little child?
Child is held unto the breast of mercy,
Cuddled close in love when cause demands
That restitution, when repentance given,
Fogiveness follows, shared culpability commands.
My musings and my muse are on a wander,
Words are pouring forth with liquid ease,
When all I want to say, to world in union, is
We’ve all been there, sorrow cast upon its knees.
Contrition given true has no agenda,
Except to restitute for all harm borne,
And certainly, no doubt, to ease a conscience – forgiveness, mercy, grace,
Other options – gifts ubiquitous – when all is said and done.