As death came to unfold my hand,
you chose to stay and hold my hand,
so that this quietus, meant
to give the steam of life a vent
and calm the mighty wave of life,
was borne with a much lesser strife.
If we are meant to salvage nought
from all the riches life has brought.
(Not one single wild carousal
nor vestige of passion’s arousal.)
If death gives heed to no demand
and no relief from its remand,
then, at least, it seems most fit
that, before our life is quit,
we should have the comfort of
a single gentle press of love.
All, perhaps, that we can stand—
the forgiveness of a loved one’s hand.
Prompts today are hold my hand, carouse, quietus, salvage and wave.
A dozen fatal flaws forgiven seems to be a fair number to allot to anyone. It’s that thirteenth misdeed that is unforgivable!
(Only So Much Forgiveness to Go Around)
I forgive you for hogging the covers
and eating the last cookie, too.
I forgive you for doing the crossword
that I was intending to do.
I forgive you for all of the dogs you brought home
that you’ve never walked even once
and for donating genes to our children
that turned them each into a dunce.
I don’t mind your poker night forays
or the damage you do to my car,
or the fact that your minimal salary
really can’t stretch very far.
Your spare tires and the fact that you’re balding
really don’t bother me much.
I’ve grown used to your slobbery kisses,
and the foreplay no more than a clutch.
But there’s one thing that you always do, dear,
that rouses my most primal scream,
for I had made plans for a tryst with
that last pint of chocolate ice cream!
For dVerse Poets, Forgiveness.