I've been thinking of ways to expand on The Weeping Key. I wrote this poem, the idea was planeted during one of the gospel readings recently, and I think it pairs well with the novel. I've never claimed to be good at poetry, so don't think I have aspirations to become the next Maya Angelou or Langston Hughes. (Two of my personal favorites.) haha
I hope you enjoy!
Seven Times Seventy
by Ames Pointer
Seven
Times Seventy
that’s 490 times we are
supposed to forgive, but is that
per person, or can we reach our quota,
and start seeking vengeance?
It
keeps me
far from heaven,
thinking about forgiveness.
Because, what if we can’t do it?
And
what if they
can? Does the person
that hurts us get through the gates,
while we stand outside them awaiting our
elevator trip down to Hell?
Confess,
on your deathbed,
and all will be forgiven, but by whom?
.…..Not by us, not from the ones they hurt…..
While
they are able
to cleanse their souls,
the stains of their abuse remains,
and for each lick of the belt, smack of the hand,
squeeze of the neck, we’re still left angry and hurting,
unforgiving, even though we may say the opposite with words.
So,
what about us?
Is forgiveness endless?
Should it be?
They
say they
are sorry and we put
the pieces back together
but the cracks are still there,
held together by the glue of love,
but what if the bond breaks?
Do…
….we…..
…shatter………,
because we’ve been broken too many times?
Forgive
them, for they
know not what they do,
buuuuuuuuut, sometimes they do.
Sometimes
they know.
Sometimes
they are aware,
and they do it anyway,
because
it fills their
negativity meter
and they can easily move on,
and the ones they hurt are left
struggling,
wanting to let go,
wishing to not remember…
and
we say
we forgive,
but we don’t truly
forgive,
and then
the stain of
anger becomes sin…
and now,
we despair,
because
forgiving
is hard,
and
hurting
is easy,
so we
sit
in the hurt
waiting
for change
but we
never act,
because we feel
-stuck-
and we
think
if we
just pray
about it,
it’ll disappear,
but
it doesn’t.
We
think if we
ignore it, and bury it
in the backyard, it’ll go away,
but
it comes to the
surface
like a dead body,
rotting
and we rot with it,
because we don’t know how to forgive,
because we’ve reached 700,
per person,
and
we are stuck,
dreading the end,
because they will surely die happy,
and they may repent and seek God and make it
to paradise,
but we won’t,
because we are camels,
stuck in the eye of the needle,
waiting for someone to pull us through,
when what we really need is a hug
and an ear or a kiss
to lessen the
weight we
carry of
grief
from
others not
being who we want them to be,
and finally,
when
we realize
that the one who
needs to be forgiven isn’t just the
neighbor,
but ourselves,
for all the things we’ve done
or
not done,
or all the teachings
we’ve heard but ignored,
for all the intuitions we’ve turned off,
or all the ways we’ve allowed others to use us,
or any of the things on our hearts that makes us wonder if we are good enough,
strong enough,
talented enough,
loved enough…
then we’ll be able to let go,
and
we won’t
worry about the end,
because
we will live in the now,
at peace.