I know it even when I am asleep,
My mind just a whisper, the night dark and deep,
That you are still out there, searching for peace,
Your search being fruitless since nothing less ‘ll please.
You wail and you cry, your heart cold as ice,
The pain like a frostbite, it’s strong as a vice.
Your spirit unbroken, your love being pure,
They guard you from madness that’s hard to endure.
You wander through forests and empty bare fields
Along dirty walls and desolete streets.
Your hands reaching out in ghostly embrace,
Red lips moving silent on your pale white face
As all flowers wither and grass turns to dust,
My thoughts often slither before they race fast.
I can’t say I’m sorry, it’s too late for that,
I can’t stop to worry, nor can I go mad.
Nothing I could do would make the things right.
Since I am who killed you that one summer night.
5 March, 2011
Guilt
© Copyright: Богдан Зырянов, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111031000610
Свидетельство о публикации №111031000610
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