Infinite Minutes (An Apology).

i poured my heart into this poem.
 
the
             words
were
broken.

i collapsed

collapsed into a sea of intuitions
made of debts.

i owe more than the days the
universe allots for chances.

i reach to heaven and asked for a
few infinite minutes
to offer you my apology.

for all of
my mistakes.

ears made of  
w  o  u  n  d  s
receives
h  u  r  t
as knives
makes
forgiveness.
forgiving.

not folded into
our hands of prayer. so

i pour my religion  into this poem.

                                                the
                                    words
                           are
          anointed
as
light

delivers a
testament that i’ve never
seen before.

a story that has never
been written

for a gospel according to
writer that has never

asked of God
for words

or asked of God
for hope

or asked of God
for love

Until He gave me you.

i owe Him more than
just prose.

I owe you more than
just apologies.

tears made of
w  o  u  n  d  s
receives

w o r d s
as just words
so
I’ll pour a picture into this poem.

the  lines
will stretch apart.

the rhythm will skips its own beats.

we must piece the poem together
into a new prose

and stare with doubt.

nothing will make sense.

who am I to try
to re-paint the future
by striking thru the past?

I don’t know …

but
we’ve reaped too much of life

for the universe
to also deliver

me, a testament that i’ve never
seen before.

and
you, a story that had never been written

for a gospel according to

a city that has never
asked for words

or asked for hope
or asked for love.

until we found each other.

we owe Him more than
just prose.

we owe Him more than
infinite chances.

for the testament we were
and the unwritten story we could be.

for the stretched apart poem
and a new prose we could see.

i pour my heart into this
apology,

i pour all
i have,

my
             words,
all broken.

my
             sentences,

all incomplete.

i collapse

Mark Anthony Thomas
Copyright © 2011

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