Thursday, July 21, 2016


The guilt gnaws at the conscience,
tearing non-societal thoughts.
It creeps in slow, then poisons -
its notorious ink blots.
The mind is a restless leaf
that flutters as the wind blows.
It sails tho the journey brief
since we anchor when it flows.
To trail beliefs is no grit,
nor the path that others writ.


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