The Art Of My Apology Poem by Tshielo Nature Otsogile

The intrisic nature of my apology remains a mystery..
Unknown also to its beholder but it shall search through history..
Unfolding closed chapters, attempting to fill deep scars..
It seeks to ask the absence of our closeness, for now we stand afar like stars
it seeks to paint that perfect picturesque of the future we dreamt,
that burning spark now faint, it seeks to know where it went..
Carved on rocks and trees, its message shall be questioned,
for all are artists but not all shall understand the portraiture..
For not only shall it be sorry but pointillism of confessed wrongs..
It seeks not to wake sleeping beasts, but take hope back where it belongs,
many shal speculate, some insecure but few will give it the attention it longs..

Coerced by guilt, the beholder shall lose pride for its exhibition,
for its a fine pierce to his blind eyes, yet it faces public obliteration..
It shall not be sold, for it is curt yet tender,
its soulful content myt make kings surrender..
Thee has not yet seen it nor heard of it, but its to you it i render..
No gallery shall be worth of it, no, not one..,
but only your heart, where love is throned should be its museum
for its message carried by a placid wind, yet tough as titanium,
shall be sound and simple, brushed softly stroke aftr stroke..
' i am sorry for having loved you but not enough..'