Sometimes, it looks like lenience.
Small passes for big faux pas.
Many believe that it's absolution
Locking themselves in boxes periodically
To cry out, bleeding painful catharsis.
Some sneak it in with charity
Use compassion as a puppet in their mercy show
Throw underhanded in the name of grace.
Some offer it when they're bruised and broken
Spit out blood, then turn the other cheek.
Others give it away with full bellies and warm hands
Either out of purity
Or some nefarious need, pushed down deep.
And I wonder and wander all the while
For I am the fool
Who begs to receive
But can not give.