Guilt
Absent oxygen,
survival hinged on fire.
Launched anchor,
sunken ship of desire.
Mind's weapon
waging war
with free soul.
Blind volunteer
leads on,
midnight patrol.
Too little,
too late,
too much,
just wait.
That's wrong,
that's weird,
you can't,
more fear.
Creeping frost,
on sunless arboretum.
Thus guilt,
contrasted freedom.
-Angel Fatale-
Copyright © Ryan Tyler | Year Posted 2016
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