Art of apology

Yes, it is an art.
It has it’s own etiquette.
It flows within the confines of sincerity,
It moves with deliberation of amendment,
It contains a brokenness of presentation,
It carries on the stretcher of death the ego and presents it for mutilation, for post mortem examination, for autopsy and cremation if needs be.
It does not stand aloof, boisterous and proud.
It is meek,
It is humble and downtrodden.
It is admittance to error.
It is not denial or justifying of your action or inaction.
It is a want.
It is a desire to communicate,
To leave open the gate,
Grease it’s hinges,
Before it’s too late,
And you’re left to the throes of fate.

And you thought a simple sorry would do? That is the prattling of someone who doesn’t like the reflection of themselves staring back at them, so they destroy the mirror instead of beautifying themselves.
You’re surrounded by all this misfortune because you’ve broken one too many mirrors.


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