I’ve made my share of mistakes—
and enough left over
to ruin a few other lives as well.
I’ve accomplished a good many things,
not as many as some,
perhaps a bit more than others.
I’ve created my own heaps
of un-composted manure,
stepped, slipped and fallen right in the middle
and come out smelling
like something rather unlike a rose.
I’ve stood up for myself and others,
been wrongly convinced of my own rightness
and sometimes damn smug about it as well.
I’ve done things that disappointed
just about every single person that loved me
and a few others as well.
There’ve been times
when I’ve been ruled by pride and prejudice,
been stubborn as a jackass on plowed ground
and as deliberately dense as a stone fence post.
Sometimes I did what I thought
was the absolutely best,
right and righteous thing to do
and learned later I couldn’t have been more wrong
if I’d made that my absolute sole intent.
Sometimes I’ve stored up right and goodness
in the hollow of a thimble
and selfish indecency by the truckload.
But in all of my life,
in every decision,
in every action,
in every occasion:
I have never,