The gentle hand I offer to the world is often tightly shut, around me curled. A shield of empathy for every soul, but for my own, a ledger taking toll. The tiny slips, the words I can't recall, grow heavy on a heart that carries all. I hold the error closer than the praise, and punish peace for days and passing days. But if the fault is small, a simple slip, The kind that tumbles from another's lip... I’d grant the grace, the wisdom, and the speed, to plant new hope and pull out every weed. I know the human frailty, the rush of doubt, the tired mind that lets a moment out. And if I know this truth for every friend, why does my own compassion have an end? The chains I feel are forged within my mind, The key to freedom is the one I have declined. It's time to take the lesson that I preach, and let the silent forgiveness finally reach. The guilt has served its purpose; it is done, the path ahead is clear now, brightly won. I’d grant the grace, the wisdom, and the speed, to plant new hope and pull out every weed. I know the human frailty, the rush of doubt, the tired mind that lets a moment out. And if I know this truth for every friend, why does my own compassion have an end? I will not live where guilt can hold me bound, I tear the chains, I break the heavy lock. The blame has lost its power, it must fall; I stand up straighter, answering the call. I’d grant the grace, the wisdom, and the speed, to plant new hope and pull out every weed. I know the human frailty, the rush of doubt, the tired mind that lets a moment out. And if I know this truth for every friend, why does my own compassion have an end? The past is done, its lessons now defined, and a kinder path is what I have designed. I am the grace, the new cause, and the free one now— the pardon I was waiting for... is right here. Let the simple act of self-forgiveness guide, the one I seek to pardon... is only I.
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