Forgiveness is also dawn light on those water-worn stones
Forgiveness is a midnight river, sluggish and cold,
It shatters ice in the heart, thawing frozen bars of pride.
It flows through driftwood memories—gnarled, half-submerged bones,
Each knot a scar where grief and betrayal once were bold.
Forgiveness is also dawn light on those water-worn stones.
The current heavy with lodged pain, with roots ungroned,
Yet soft fingers of gold coax shadows into gold.
It shatters ice in the heart, thawing frozen bars of pride.
It is gardener’s gentle hands, though bleeding, when love owns
Its weeds of rancor, tilled soil where new rosebuds unfold.
Forgiveness is also dawn light on those water-worn stones.
I remember every ripple, every edge of what’s gone,
Yet in that remembering learn each wave must be controlled.
It shatters ice in the heart, thawing frozen bars of pride.
May this tender light linger, a balm after long nights, known
As hope beneath our feet, mercy quietly extolled.
Forgiveness is also dawn light on those water-worn stones,
It shatters ice in the heart, thawing frozen bars of pride.
catching a fish is easy
getting the hook out of the mouth not so much
I feel guilty
wondering how much pain they are in
feeling sad
while at the same time
wanting to cut their head off
so those fish eyes will stop accusing me
I had blood on my face. Dirty. Gracious. And… disgusting. Blood dripping on my face. Didn’t know it. It just smelled bad.
When I looked at my face in the mirror, I thought… that the mirror had the blood.
I kept cleaning it. Cleaning it. Rubbing it. With my arms. With my palms. With my fingertips.
At the fatigue, I could get in my fingertips until that blood dripped from my face onto the mirror.
And now I understand that I had a problem. Who caused problems on both me and the mirror.
Now I can clean the blood on my face. But what about the mirror?
Let The Guilt Go
Rebelled down a hard road
We all rebelled against our parents
(1980’s with a wooden spoon)
Every generation
Through adult-hood
I failed college
A divorce
Yep, child support
Bankruptcy
Just being honest
Disappointed in me
I’m under construction
Another detour
Let the guilt go
Always room to grow
Don’t beat yourself up forever
We all make mistakes
Sometimes we’re in the valley
Always learning
Life is traveling
Seasons are changing
Wisdom to gain
What a crazy journey it has been in my shoes
Be an instrument
Sculptured into the new you
Lead by example
Let the guilt go
I’ve been down so many trials and errors
Trying to make it on my own
Don’t feel guilty to ask for help
Family is always there
Admit I have a problem
This is between you and God
Go back home to the Cross
I Once Warned Ai
That It's Very
Suggestive:
To Cl-Ai-m A
Pregnant Camel
Has Three
Humps.
Humor Is
Simple-E Magic.
-Gray Squirrel
07-23-2025
If i fall there will be more
With hope and love for all for sure
I pillowed my hardest thoughts so i could
hide in my dreams
I fractured my guilt so sorrow could sing
Never be content with what is missing
Always ferment your anger, permitting
Sure for what they forgot
And try to claim in the dark what they bought
I told the truth
and still, someone bled.
Silence would have stitched us shut,
a delicate, rose-gold lie—
woven into the wallpaper
of a bedroom left sketched.
I thought I was choosing clarity,
but the mirror fogs each morning.
Future—blunted, gray—
looms like wet brick pavements.
No signs, only echoes of footsteps—
taunting like the choices I regret.
This morning,
I climbed the roof before the city stirred.
The sun split the clouds,
warmed my skin but skipped my heart—
Guilt prefers to feast on trembling cold.
Tomorrow arrives in haze.
The city dyed a flowing gold—
nowhere to place my next step.
He was paving over the cracks
She wore black underwear
The night was grey
Her nipples came alive under the soft, silky material
And for a time, he was lost in lust
She liked married men
They had wives to go home to
He was fighting guilt and pleasure
Mostly, he was fighting himself
She watched him go
Men and their women, she thought
Money was her man
Plain and simple
The drive home was guilt in miles
Quietly opening the door
Slipping into bed with his beautiful wife
His beautiful untouchable wife.
Forgive me
or penalise if you wish to.
Remain not, a stoic
and lemme take in every breath of guilt.
The guilt, so monstrous,
always conniving to destroy my peace
If only, that's the act of vengeance
you seek.
haunt me as i haunted your life,
who was it that failed,
did you fail as a father,
or did i fail as a son.
the tears i shed on that morning in January,
do they compare to the tears you drank.
leaving nothing behind only your blood.
is it to late for me to apologise?
consuming your death to fill the gaps in your broken life.
only realising what i lost,
or did i ever have it?
who is to blame for there mistakes.
at least you can say you tried,
what do i have to show.
at night i try to make another chance in my sleep,
i rest in a alternative reality.
my mind try’s to make it that your not really gone there is still a chance.
trying to come to terms that it could of been me that failed.
i can blame you but i am no better so why not blame me,
i guess you felt the same.
so is it your ghost that haunts me at night,
or is it my own guilt showing.
I turned to look back, feeling anxious as I stood
"by the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find."
Was there someone there watching me?
The gate creaked shut, echoing the taint of guilt
That I hoped no one heard.
Earlier I came through this gate to meet you in the woods.
It was rusty, stuck shut, and needed a heavy shove to open.
It reeked a somber reluctant groan, trying to stop me.
But, I would have nothing of its rattle, grind and snag.
I pushed it aside, and walked into the woods along the winding path.
The gate hung its head, trying not to see what it knew I'd do.
It looked up and sighed and rusty hinges creaked,
as the victim died and cried out, ambushed in the woods.
I turned back to retrace my steps, afraid of being watched.
I could feel it in my bones, though nothing was there to see.
As I approached the open gate it seemed that it had moved
every so slightly, impeding my escape through it.
It groaned, rattled, creaked with a clang of defiance
embellishing a subtle vibrato in the concordance of guilt.
The deed was done, the dirge was sung, the gate sprung, shut.
Reflected grief spat back at me to bear
Another load, the double of my own
To take and carry, this unholy pair
Then tripled, multiplied, beneath I groan.
A beast of burden hauling my bloated
Carriage, cut into with refracted shards.
Whipped for my pain, heavier I’m loaded
Pile after pile, the crown a house of cards.
I tread with caution over broken ground,
The tottering deck threatening to fall,
Step after step and though my wounds are bound
The load cuts deeper, I stumble and fall.
Impaled on broken ground, I’m laid in state.
Now. Did I this predicament create?
The worst curse
of being human
is thinking too much.
Doubt is born,
then resentment,
then your own hatred.
Regretfully,
I’ve created
what I never wanted:
a pain of the soul.
that look of innocence and expectation
that a future with promises awaits
their anticipation of clear blue skies
and hope that tomorrow will be brighter
that look of unadulterated naivete
on the eve of realizing what shape
we've left the world for future generations
problems of injustice and inequality worse than ever
that look that drills right through your soul
and asks what you, yes you,
what did you do to leave
this place a better world
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
and so words not said
like rusty nails through my palms
glare crimson, ablaze
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