My apologies to death for refusing to rehearse it daily.
My apologies to oblivion if I mistake this breath for permanence, after all.
Please, don’t be angry, life, that I seize you as my own—
even when the weight of you bends my spine like winter wind.
May the shadows be patient with the way I keep turning toward light.
My apologies to despair for laughing when it almost had me.
Forgive me, endless night, for borrowing stars to light my small room.
Forgive me, open graves, for stepping over you with bare feet.
I apologize to the void for filling it with stubborn heartbeats,
to the silence for speaking when nothing asked me to.
Pardon me, old wounds, that I let them scar instead of swallow me.
Pardon me, hounded fear, for daring joy in your presence.
And you, relentless dawn—always arriving, always the same gold—
forgive me if I sometimes close my eyes, yet still rise.
My apologies to the fallen for standing when they could not.
My apologies to great endings for these small, defiant continuings.
Truth, don’t stare too hard at my trembling hands.
Dignity, be kind enough to let me falter and still call it courage.
Bear with me, O mystery of staying alive, as I gather the scattered threads of day
and weave them into another fragile tomorrow.
Soul, don’t scorn me for clinging to you only in the narrow spaces between breaths.
My apologies to everything that I can’t vanish gracefully.
My apologies to everyone that I persist, stubbornly human,
when the easier path was surrender.
I know I won’t be absolved as long as I breathe,
since survival itself stands in the way of perfect peace.
Don’t bear me ill will, breath, that I borrow your force
then labor fiercely so it may seem effortless.
There—dark and light entwined, survival as both apology and defiance.
A quiet roar in the desert night.
:: 01.15.2026 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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