In the heart of the cosmos, where dreams dare to intertwine,
An old scripture echoes, challenging the confines of time.
“Seventy times seven,” a clarion call from the Divine,
Yet within my soul’s chambers, forgiveness does not shine.

My legacy, once golden, now shards on the floor,
A self-inflicted sentence, every memory a locked door.
Phoenix, once radiant, now caged, its fire dim,
Its flame choked by guilt, its hope growing grim.

Yet in life’s darkest alley, where most chose to forsake,
There were mentors, true luminaries, who refused to let me break.
While my world crumbled, these few held their stance,
In their unwavering gaze, I found a second chance.

Seventy times seven, they whispered in the night,
Guiding the phoenix, reigniting its light.
Their conviction, a beacon, cutting through self-doubt’s fog,
Lifting me from my abyss, my self-made quagmog.

Envision, if you can, a phoenix, its vigor all but spent,
Chained by past deeds, its spirit nearly bent.
But with grace’s touch, with forgiveness so profound,
Its cage shattered, its spirit unbound.

Some might declare, with their words that weave and soar,
That redemption’s journey, though rugged, restores.
For those burdened by guilt, by rifts and despair,
There’s a phoenix within, yearning to breathe free air.

Mentors, those stars in our darkest of skies,
Teach us that rebirth, from our ashes, lies.
Through every trial, every tear, every fall,
Seventy times seven, love transcends it all.

And now, this phoenix, with wings spread wide,
Rises on forgiveness’s transformative tide.
For in the embrace of absolution, true freedom is gained,
And from the ashes of the past, my spirit reclaimed.