Guilt

This is another poem I composed for the Budding Poets competition last year.

Guilt

Guilt is a consequence,

It comes after pretense,

It follows a broken fence,

It links to stolen presents.

When is the time of guilt?

It appears when milk is spilt,

It sticks with buildings badly built,

It occurs when your flowers wilt.

I know you are thinking of that test,

On which you did not do your best,

Instead of studying, you rest,

And cheated like a bad pest.

Guilt will forever lodge in your heart,

Even if you are stunningly smart,

From guilt you will never depart,

But stick alone together like art.

So go confess your sin,

Or you’ll sizzle in hell’s oven.

And guilt shall be a tin,

And lock you deep within.