Is this woodpile just a load of junk,

The parts which have fallen off,

Never to be affixed again.

.

Or are they a shelter,

Made from the errors and mistakes,

Providing a refuge; where I can store the sorrow.

.

Until it becomes an evitable joy.

I know my answer should have been earlier,

I needed to attend all the meetings,

To have listened to others when the discussions were happening,

But I didn’t.

xxx

Now, the report is due,

The conclusions are in,

A consensus is made.

xxx

But I will still place myself at the head of the table,

Even though I did not prepare the food,

Invite the guests,

Or even greet them at the door.

Seems like I am keeping us apart.

Not really sure why;

Perhaps because you have forgiven me,

But I won’t accept it in my heart.

xxx

No wonder I feel the distance.