Aftermath

 

 

I woke up one morning not long ago

to find that forgiveness

            like a thief in the night

had stolen unaware into my life,

            and with gentle stealth

drained off the anger,

            evaporated the misery,

                        eased away the pain --

bit by bit

            ounce by ounce

                        drop by drop.

 

Here now, on the far side

of suicide’s aftermath,

            with that fateful night still so clear

in my memory

            in my heart

                        in my dreams

I discover that I forgave you

          -- unbeknownst to me --

                        years ago.

 

Yet still the pain lingers,

            pulsing in time to my heartbeat:

                        Life’s rhythm of sorrow and guilt.

 

It seems it is myself

            I cannot forgive.