Is there a place somewhere known and yet unknown
where humans keep or lose their guilts
Is there a dumping hole or a snug
or a fierce incinerator blazing
That destroys or obliterates
human guilts

Is it a known some guilts carry comfortably and alone
just another thing for the holdall satchel bag or arm
Someday its worryingly heavy on the shoulders
other times it's just small and weightless
An accessory as any others
imperceptibly light

Is the heavy guilt or tons heavy ones like granite stone
a weary toil left in a storage or thrown over a cliff
What ever done guilts come with a personal receipt
bearing owners name time and number
Attached to owner and carried 24/7
marked as 'Non-Transferable'

Is your guilt or guilts  bearable or carry-able like your phone
have you stored, hidden it or pushed down a crevice
What about the indelible receipt on your person
that which is there and rests on you
Does it flare like an incindaries
or just simmer quietly

Is your guilt a bedfellow that clings to your chest in a zone
whispering in tone foreboding and chills persistent
Or one that wades in and recedes like shore waves
perhaps it's a type like a central rigid statue
An unmovable edifice of horror
coated in fear and alarm

Is your guilt light and niggly, a Bonsai with no tall grown
did you amend paying a due and penanced did leave
And though the attached receipt still haunts you
least you know it will gradually fade away
Leaving truly tutoring imprints
Never to be repeated

Is your guilt a stranger yet unmet and your spirit happy flown
do you walk in salient steps with no recourse to remorse
And greet each morn with pleasantries to I, me and self
enthralled no rent paid for secret storage or a crevice
Just the one that stands before man and Creation
Held aloof by a Conscience unstained



Copyright@Laurence14th Aug2018.all rights reserved.

If…
          Some Crown of sorrows sit
          Upon a little world for a little hour –
          Who shall remember it? Who shall care for it?

                    -C. S. Lewis, “In Prison,” Spirits in *******

It’s not a bad cell, but it is a cell
Requiring you not to be who you are
Quietly within your designated space
And keeping your insolence to yourself

A grated hatch of disapproval drops
And leaves you to the berth penanced to you
A hard and narrow bunk of pain and guilt
Against a wall that now must be your world

And in that world do thoughtful battle against
Shrill voices telling you how wrong you are

THERE thou came upon a summer's day
With your dedication to me -
The sweet Saint of May,
Love's revelation is he.

The sun shall shine upon thy brow,
The aroma of Spring's flowers blew -
The serenity solstice we bow,
To make things anew.

Yet our time weighed heavy,
With not a word spoken,
Guarded by love's levee -
The heart's token.

Thou shut the doors of the tomb -
Forbidden to people of lore,
Immortal from its doom,
Turned to love for evermore.

The Hours ticked along,
By Time's sheer will -
The dying swan's time song,
Our hearts, stood still.

Alas! - When time hath failed,
Penanced without a sound -
And my heart has exhaled,
Your bond, I hath found.

Past the tyranny that may rise,
Against the stars above my grave -
Let them shimmer in your eyes,
To cherish the love thou shall pave.