He sighed with a strained breath, read
through the letter again; surely his sincerity
should reflect undoubtedly now?
But the rubbed out pencil
marks had worn the paper and
stole the neatness of his carefully placed words.
Unsatisfied, he replaced the day’s paper with a blank
new sheet, and copied out his old words.
But when turning over a new leaf, he was blind
to the stain left behind of his unfading character – he missed
that the wearied paper, greyed with apology and crying
damp with pain, carried more depth
Than his clean words will ever show.
[poetry | 101 | rehab| papers]