We often think we're blind,
a truth you can't feel,
a lie I usually imagine,
in defense of my imperfect humanity.
I can ask for forgiveness for my thinking,
to feel good about taking back my words,
vague thoughts of imperfect mind,
that he was only pointing to in his defense.
I can hide the tears under the rain,
but not the pain that's inside me,
believing it always makes me strong,
but it makes me weaker than I was.
It was very easy to judge and point,
I look up at the sky and wonder if I can be there,
I kneel with my eyes closed begging,
my own forgiveness and then you.
The wind touches my cheeks soaked with tears,
separating myself from them so as not to suffer,
I'm complaining of a pain in the soul
when there are mourning bodies of inhumane loss.
Shame often takes hold of me,
I'm an insufferable human asking for rest,
tired of physical pain and frustration,
asking for good for himself and for you.
My knees are scraped,
my hands from worn-out footprints,
my clothes stained and torn,
but my soul calmly finding forgiveness.
