Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Blossom to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
I said the words that cut you, in a temper and in haste,
And the silence after thundered in a sudden barren waste.
You did not slam the door or shout or count my faults in rows,
You simply looked at me, and let the quiet ebb and flow.
Then you said, we're both still learning how to love and be forgiven,
And a heart that can say sorry is a heart still fully living.
Forgiveness is a doorway that you opened with your hand,
And I walked through it humbly to a soft and gentler land.
Now I measure out my words as a gardener measures rain,
For a love that's lost its petals can grow petals back again.
So thank you for the mercy that was greater than my wrong,
You turned a shattered evening to a soft and simple song.
Poet of Blossom · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
Love is tested most when someone is wrong. This poem describes a quarrel and the quiet mercy that follows it, showing forgiveness as an act of courage and not weakness.
The speaker admits to saying “the words that cut you, in a temper and in haste.” The silence “thundered in a sudden barren waste.” Yet the beloved “did not slam the door” or “count my faults in rows,” but instead let “the quiet ebb and flow.”
The beloved says, “we’re both still learning how to love and be forgiven.” Forgiveness is “a doorway,” and the speaker walks through “humbly to a soft and gentler land.” Now the speaker measures words “as a gardener measures rain,” trusting that “a love that’s lost its petals can grow petals back again.”