Haunted
It haunts the minions of my mind
subservient in acquiescence
to a horror's endless daily grind
deny the truth, buttress the flank
conceal the secret – rancid – rank
within a lie's servile defense.
It sups on pain, its sustenance
cold fear its stain will slow seep out
demand the price of penitence
fuel flames of hell in victim's heart
burning guilt of which he had no part
consuming all in rebellious rout.
©3/28/2018
submitted to – Rhyme Time 1 – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Laura Loo
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2018
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