The Guilt

The beast hurt came out from the spiked pit

Enjoying the liberation, enthralled by the roses before it

Yet they renew its wounds old, refusing to be admired


Alarmed by the pain

Severe stomps were put on the crimson blossoms

Pain fades

Yet the beauty also wanes


The earth is scarred

The flowers are marred

The injured beast suffers hard


One moving

One standing

Both from the land

Yet agony is what both can give to each other


Silent blossoms without moans

Where beauty left the fear comes in, alone

The scythe of guilt in his hands of bones


To reclaim moments passed, been sold

Words and regrets are not worth enough


Sorry for or

I regret

Become sounds about to wear off


This poem is about: 
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741