“Sorry” seems to be the hardest orientation of the soul; at least it seems to me.
The letters fall so easy,
The sound of them echo continually,
The need of them remains, reverberates in our shared ecology.
Oh, unrepentant soul.
Soul; with thick covering of shame,
That death shroud of arrogant, prideful pain.
Denial’s wall built high again;
As hope lies dead in the flowerless field of war; petals surrendered only thorns remain.
Oh, Come on my soul.
Empty words, cease; let the sound be re-birthed.
Let syllabic softness of truth be re-heard.
Let the spring song burst from a soul; oh that word,
When it is more than a word, when it is the orientation of a life re-learned
Oh, Hear my soul,