Our written past we darken
when in looking back we search
for its worded errors
which turn on the many.
Our day-bed of rest is wasted
by rephrasing each gone attempt
to communicate ourselves
either for or against.
But waking we can seize "now"
with both hands raised ready to
dart memory's lax guilt
and let love have its head.
We make Kings from deceit,
Princesses out of treachery then
Queens from the unseemly
if real becomes unsteady.
Stalking our past, self-respect
marks hidden gems so forgiveness
can scatter love's stardust
all over falsehood's regret.
Open eyes see loyalty's rainbows
widen ways to heart-transformation
so peace floods future's gate
with nothing left to repent.
Our written past, though worded
with errors, is always best seen as a
learning curve given
from none other than Heaven.
