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.