Forgiveness Poem by Richard Weissman

Blood red wounds wept for this world,
The season of hope unfurls.
Though solution claws up from knotted belly,
Bleak emptiness drains me still,
As I struggle to
Surrender.
Tormenters past, present… all forgiven now,
All, save the mirror's warped reflection.
Set clocks five minutes or fifty years forward,
Hard task remains unaltered,
Pardon or wither,
Grow or die.
A million flecks of cascading thought now wrapped in a single act
As I fall to knees and pray,
And forgive us our trespasses as we…