I realize now,
the futility of
forgiveness

we all want a clean slate,
the washing away of our sins,
but in the end:

we are never clean

you can paint over it,
or wear costumes,
or even spend millions
on special procedures

but it’s all just mask

we live with what’ve done,
each day, we must face the
man we used to be, and the
implications that man has
on the one we are now

(and that’s all that matters)

you can mix in new colors,
but never get rid of the old
ones

that is futility of forgiveness:

we cannot wash away the sins,
cannot wipe the slate clean,
the only solitude is forgetting,
and that, in itself, is flawed

(for the moment comes
when all those memories
come flooding back in)

but we carry on

forgetting or forgiving ourselves
(whatever seems better to you)
and trying to make ourselves
presentable

even with the
knowledge of our past
and future mistakes