Sorry

 Dear parents,
I forgive you my life,
Begotten in a drab town,
The intention was good;
Passing the street now,
I see still the remains of sunlight.


It was not the bone buckled;
You gave me enough food
To renew myself.

It was the mind's weight
Kept me bent, as I grew tall.


It was not your fault.

What should have gone on,
Arrow aimed from a tried bow
At a tried target, has turned back,
Wounding itself
With questions you had not asked.

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