I stood on the stand and confessed my sins. Letting you, the jury, judge me. Seeing me for who I was. Yet you were also the prosecutor, and the judge. I was never afraid to show you the mess that was swept under the carpet. I knelt down and began watering our gardens growing our fruits. Yet again the sins I confessed hurt you, my words like a knife sliced through every dream we created. I took from you like I would my last breath. Yet I don’t know what you want from me, I have no more “I’m Sorry”
-
Author:
Beatrixx89 (
Offline) - Published: August 15th, 2024 18:23
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 33
Offline)
Comments2
You move on. I said I'm sorry to others. You do what you can do.
A well written apology but it appears to no avail. Nicely written
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.