Take a pretty good sunday sermon on forgiveness, mix in yours truly warped imagination, tack it to a Petrarchian sonnet form, then torture it ’til you get another iambic foot out of each line. What do you get?
08 Nov 2015 – Sonnet
I guess that I’ll forgive you – just don’t ask for more!
I can’t forget the evil thing you said to me –
October twenty-seventh, nineteen sixty-three.
For sure don’t come and show your face here at my door!
Though we were kids you pierced me, pierced me to the core!
I close my eyes at night, that scene is all I see.
First light – the dance resumes, and I’m an amputee.
“Forgive – forget?” I find that crap an awful bore.
But now it seems I’ve flown away to make my stand,
and plead my case before the very throne of God.
To find you guilty, me of any wrong acquit.
A strange response from all these gathered angel bands.
Not one that I’d expect, in fact I find it odd:
the angels laughing, like their very sides will split.