Whole Enough

There is no thing as subtle sin

‘Hamartia’,

Well, I recognise ‘Harm’.

And there are twenty-four arrows scattered around an empty Target.

As more grey hairs appear,

As the hair grows thin on top (dare I eat a peach?)

It’s those sins of omission that keep me awake at night,

More than those committed,

Perhaps,

It’s more understanding the reasons,

Or triggers, ouch,

That were the catalyst for the wrong choice that caused pain.

It’s never been lies,

Before being claimed, my morality was beautifully elastic.

I had a huge amount of rope for special occasions,

That could double as an escape out of a convenient window.

But now,

Regret is what causes the scars not to close, or heal over,

And yet,

I’ve never more understood grace.

We’re Glorious Ruins who this side of the River

Will never be,

Or even feel, whole enough.