The guilt is free.
Its encasement shudders,
Wondering whence it came,
Or what works it reaps.
Guilt:
Judgmental harvester of past decay,
Tilling famine,
With gloomy insistence,
And stalwart endurance.
Guilt:
Stocky interloper of conditioned sound,
Blaring criticism,
Through a million megaphones.
Guilt:
Every tyrant’s blooded weapon,
Every despot’s accusing bedfellow.
Guilt:
When will you give me peace?
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