The Apology

The Apology

Sorry and apologize, too overused to care.
They drift softly through the air,
echoing through the halls and hallways like a prayer;
hoping, someday, by asking forgiveness of impair.

My choices were poor, stupid, I despair;
and no amount of remorse will repair,
my poor decision on the brown deck chair.
Try as I might, to un-declare,

futile, my efforts, my loves and thoughts mixed in disrepair.
And so, we longingly stare,
at what was once a lovely pair,
now a plain, long and flat, stands firm; so much we cannot bear.

If I try, I fear a greeting of "ne'er".
For that, I surely shall despair,
for you, I know, it's no forswear,
but it will take time to repair.

I am aware,
no need to share,
all this is of loose compare,
and so begins my evening prayer.

With words, too heavy in the mid-night air,
to sing praise, or ask forgiveness, through a book of common prayer;
I nevertheless start reversal of my disrepair,
with an apology, humbly laid bare.