V. H. King's Ink

Aside: My poetry teaches me a lot about the complexity

of anger. On the surface, this poem might seem like

pride and entitlement to some. Reach deeper, and consider

the wounds that might give rise to this kind of attitude.

No Such Thing as Sorry

I’m the one owed 

apology, but I wouldn’t believe 

one from you even if I got it. 

Nothing your guilty tears can 

erase; my history is more 

permanent than your hatred. 

>

Spare me your so-called remorse–save it

for the saints who’ve barred your pearled-gate

entry: the heaven you swore to protect

turns deaf ears to your protests.

>

The Kingdom of Glory will deals its due 

recourse beyond death. As for me,

beware self-incurred consequences: ignoring

a just petition, feeding your ruthlessness

with pleading screams, will lead

to worse than this.