“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