“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,