Hot Air Balloon

It's true, I had anger.
I was a man of vendettas.
I was a boy
by not letting memories fade.

I see this new chapter,
I did not turn the page;
The wind did.
And as the vapid taste
of fresh forgiveness
flowed through my veins
My cries stopped
And apologies were accepted.

It's funny how words
are written in pencil
But without assurance
they seem skin deep,
sunken in and withered up.
Scars that were not my friends,
To which this strange,
alternate reality bends.

Fragments here and there,
slowly swelling the balloon,
Singing this anger-felt tune,
and all was washed away,
As if nothing happened, anyway.