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| The conscience. 2015. Oil on canvas |
Inside, that still small
voice hides
beneath the bundles of my
goodest deeds,
my vain attempts at
conscience salving.
Try as I might I cannot heal
the wound that I have made,
those injurious words that
cut you deep,
harmed the very heart of you.
You say that’s its okay that
we all say words
that we regret when anger
rises rules our tongue,
your selfless kindness marks
you out above myself,
the selfish self-crucifying
pity-me that I am.
Me, I wonder if I grieve for
you,
the wound you bear, given as
if some awful gift
or do I grieve for me,
self-harmed am I in uttering words
that never needed saying.
You say that its okay, what’s
done is done
and should not mar our friendship
that you have forgiven me and
we should return
to how we used to be, before
your trust in me was broken.
You are repaired now or at
least you say you are, but me,
I can’t quite forgive myself
and I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what to do for
(my) anguished heartfelt sorry
will never ever be enough,
will not repair the harm I’ve done
to self-pitying little me.
Anna :o]
9 comments:
I'm convinced that "the still small voice" of guilt is not from God (the power that is) who forgives 7x7 and loves unconditionally. Yet you capture here the persistence of self-incrimination, and remind me how it gets in the way of empowerment. I think you speak for many who harm themselves in this way. Maybe this poem will be part of the cure!
I agree with Susan, I think we are conditioned to hear that critical voice in our heads. I know I do. A well expressed poem on a topic I definitely relate to.
What power 'that still small voice' has! It lifts us up many a time but nibbles our soul crippling us forever too. So well penned!
We say dreadful things in anger...Atonement is the answer.
'or do I grieve for me, self-harmed am I in uttering words that never needed saying'.. sigh such palpable anguish in this, Anna!
What a beautiful poem. Some things broken cannot be repaired, and no, probably things will never be the same? There is no moment in life, that we can just ignore.
If this is true, I hope you will share it with the one you hurt. I was that "one," and I wish someone had written this poem for me.
that voice still being heard is probably the glimmer in the horizon that all is not dead and hope still lives...
Thank good for consciences, they are one of the things that make us human. As usual, an excellent and moving poem.
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