I’m sending this message to You,
enclosing thawing stubborn words and phrases
that have stumbled at the final hurdle
in the raw test of time.
Each glowing sentence illuminates
from the postponed void of my mind
“I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way.”
The stabbing admittance of my faults
bears an unfamiliar sense of guilt,
testing a dissolving connection
across a path frozen over for too long.
Perfectly punctuating each flowing phrase.
I am in control.
“Can’t we just be civil.”
An awareness of the one-way train ticket I blindly volunteered for,
forever left to chill in that isolated carriage.
We’re both waiting for it,
so hastily overused in its fragile nature –
we both know that I’m subject to that crime.
But it’s different this time,
surely You must know that.
Intertwined with the aged vines of sincerity,
the growth of stagnant time,
it presents itself,
a vulnerable yet resolute beacon:
I’ve been sending these messages to You
in bitter repentance
searching for a glimmering slither of peace
denied to me for so long,
before even You.
Withering each day
growing in maturity,
I shall continue to stand in the path of time
with my roots of truth and honesty
I shall continue to wait
So that when You receive this message,
You might somehow realise
that some people are still learning.
And forgiveness is a key
that You alone hold,
which opens a door,
freeing me from the cold.