Forgiveness

"Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it"

Yes it must be something
Like Mark Twain said,
A sort of smell from
Fish to Fine; to Flower.
An urge inside our heads
Of hearts that are never
Satisfied and still see bumps,
Think them their own
(Own others' faults)
And burn up a river like salmon
To try and find some Voice of Apology,
So that sometimes
Even when no one says sorry
They want to forgive.

Forgive is to give and
Forget is to get.
We forgive never for get
And are in this pathetic,
Gazing admiringly at
Our empty soft hands.