Sonnet

Not seven times I tell you.
But seventy-seven times.
Forgiveness is the one thing we fear to pursue.
These are not our natural lines.

It’s worse if you try and do it; it certainly doesn’t come lightly to the touch.
It reminds you of what the person did to you.
But we ourselves have been forgiven so much.
Better maybe to dwell on that gift too.

In Carl Spitzweg’s painting, the poor poet sits alone, seemingly lame.
Disconsolate unread.
Not for him, written on the book’s binding, gradus ad parnassum, the height of fame.
Nothing much of him can be said.

But perhaps one thing, he forgives and does not resent the fire’s and his dying flame.
Because the pleasure is in creation and writing not in fame.

Haiku

Forgiving matters
The pleasure is creating
Not then in just fame