I embarked on a situation, create the hypothesis for mistakes,
Mistakes isn't knowingly adding too much sugar to the cake,
Then you let it bake, afterwards the cake is baked it's too sweet, now it's a mistake.
Or is it?
But adding the right servings of salt and the cap releases allowing half the bottle to fall and the cake is salty, that's a mistake.

Don't get me wrong that simple explanation won't explain the full extent of what a mistake is and what it meant was that mistakes are depended on the understanding that knowing and not knowing finalizes the decision of making such mistakes.

If you can meditate on things that are wrong trying to put it in form to disguise it as a mistake, then that's your mistake.
Initially you make mistakes when the ignorance of something is present.
On the contrary carefully analyzing your actions and thoughts making proper covers for loopholes then doing the decided portion isn't considered a mistake.

don't tell me lies and afterwards say sorry it was a mistake,
You had time to think over those lies and the in this it results in life sentences.
Heart with no recompences,
Anger of the soul tenses,
Your mistake commences,
Now we're left with negative consequences.

Back to the beginning of your path heartbroken apart asking yourself, "Was that mistake worth making?"
Was that toothache sweet cake worth baking?
Was the thinking process worth taking?

Mistakes are out of the ordinary,
With lack of knowledge and wisdom and doing as we think rather than we know, it slow, we think, NO I don't think so, but even though our minds are clogged like someone's front door at Christmas with snow, we go the distance to allow our ignorant selves say or do things that we don't comprehend or have the evidence to show then we say sorry under low yet we learn and we will grow because that was a mistake.

So, before you approach me saying sorry it was a mistake think before you speak the same way you thought before you spoke or acted, rewind the tape repeat the situation again and again correct the matter in your brain before I ask you to maintain the words you are choosing to speak in vain..... "I'm sorry, I made a mistake!"
Or did you?

I am feeling home sick,
Tell my family come get me quick.
My emotions are running wild,
I cannot control my thoughts even if I try.
Get me out of here I feel like I'm in an asylum.
I am not deaf, not lame, blind or dumb.
I feel trapped in a call deep beneath the ground,
So deep not even by the devil can it be found.
I want to go home, I am fed up of this,
No proper sleep and there're programmed people here with chips.
Left, right, left, right, left repeats even in my little sleep,
I already don't get enough so imagine my face when I weep.
Everyday is strangling me,
I am clustered and my body is getting weak.
I miss home and the qualities of my comfort zone,
I miss my family, so long I haven't been alone.
I want to escape and the door is open wide,
There's only two ways I can leave and graduating is the one I decide.
I am home sick I need to leave quick,
I am praying that grad day don't stick.

Poetry is life and life is art,
Creating a new piece conceives a new life's start.
Poetry saved my brother, yes it's true.
Even though he messed up, poetry pulled him through.
The art of poetry is so divine and magnificent,
Words like mountains grounded firm such omnipotence.  
The passion is in the emotions the poet sets in words,
Every synthesis of symphony, the similes, metaphors tingle every nerve.
Categorizing vocabulary, an encyclopedia your brain should be,
Hitting the bull, yes that sweet spot definitely.
Like a tree your poetry must grow so tall, so strong, so big,
The simplest of words can make your poems more than you think.
Poetry saved my brother from the hands of the stern court of disclosure,
Though he was wrong, he held his composure.
His heart was made pure and sincere through faith earnestly to God he held on to.
Tempted in the garden, yet poetry saw him through.
Some of his brothers disowned him and remembered him no more,
Thou shall not get caught, he failed to observe the 11th law.
Some who called him friend and partaker in the crime,
Like Judas they threw him to the crucifixion line.
Whispers of him going astray and gossips, that he was selfish they assured themselves that he was wrong,
The proud man stood leaving their heads bowed to the ground.
Poetry saved my brother, and on forward his head held high,
A man who can acknowledge his deeds, the most respect never past him by.