Guilt that was Born in the Wasteland of Trust

Guilt that was born in the Wasteland of Trust

Within a desolate wasteland
Trust drowns  in quick sand
Trees stand, leafless lifeless twisted
But, there is one white rose, wilted
On this monotonous grey plane
Where colour has fallen down a drain,
This place it is dark, lonely and cold
For any wandering soul,
And harsh winds stream across the plain
As blood falls from the sky like rain
Though this place feels right to peer,
Another presence is drawing near
On this wasteland where there’s no trust
Blood rain falls heavy and gets coated in dust
This old presence does not trust this rose
Her ideology is what and all she knows
A cry is screeched from her side from a black crow
The rose fears she’s its foe and fills up in woe
And the white rose becomes slightly tainted
A thousand questions poured which are hated
And the white rose pleads to self to emblanch
As lightning hits a tree and snaps a branch
And crushes the tainted rose,
At the roots a pool quickly grows
Of bloody tears, pools of self-hate
And leads to opening another metaphorical gate,
As a blizzard of guilt fights through wind and rain
One can only hope to remain sane
Now what’s left is a girl – chocking, bleeding swallowing anger,
All for guilt, that was born, within, the wasteland of trust.

© Jenna Leanne Grabey, 2012. All Rights Reserved.

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