The Guilt
The beast hurt came out from the spiked pit
Enjoying the liberation, enthralled by the roses before it
Yet they renew its wounds old, refusing to be admired
Alarmed by the pain
Severe stomps were put on the crimson blossoms
Pain fades
Yet the beauty also wanes
The earth is scarred
The flowers are marred
The injured beast suffers hard
One moving
One standing
Both from the land
Yet agony is what both can give to each other
Silent blossoms without moans
Where beauty left the fear comes in, alone
The scythe of guilt in his hands of bones
To reclaim moments passed, been sold
Words and regrets are not worth enough
Like:
Sorry for or
I regret
Become sounds about to wear off