You cry in my home.
Lonely tears drop on your clasped hands
Ever so quietly.

It’s the garden of Gethsemane
All over again.

And you feel selfish
For you weep not at my sorrow
But your own.

And you feel guilty
For you never want to listen
The way I do.

And you feel sad
For you are blind to the happiness
That I have bestowed upon you.

But fear not;
I forgive you.
Now forgive yourself.