Guilt
My heart, dear child, is weary; my breath slow and ponderous. Time seems to tick by so slowly now that I am old. The years past flashed by me in an instant those youthful proud years where nothing could abate me. How flummoxed I am that the incessant ticking of the clock should finally slow to such an extent that I am conscious of every second of every passing moment. Each second that passes seems an endless age of being bed ridden riddles with the guilt of my youth, my sloth; my endless wasteful years. I have nothing to remember that gives me pleasure for I did not stop to glance. I rushed around full of purpose driven for a sale, a bargain and profit to be made. Did I stop and wonder or did life pass me by? I in my abject misery feel the weight of time upon my shoulders each chink and cog of the clock striking the hour so precisely like the stroke of a pen upon a cheque for vast sums of money. Like the hand turning a key to a dark cell wherein lies emptiness and false promises. To be imprisoned for wasting time, a sentence, a word- guilty! Guilty of recklessness; guilty of deceit; guilty of wasted purpose. A promise of redemption enclosed in my crypt where I rot with despair for my crimes. Guilt and imprisonment going hand in hand: cuffed by my errors and falseness. I have spent my years here wasting away and growing old. Have I been repatriated delivered from my crime? Or has this been more time squandered uselessly for now I am frail how can I make amends? Have I paid for my crime or been tortured with weariness and slothful years? They creep with disjointed limbs towards death and decay. I am tired I am weary and have become misery. I take my burden to my winter years and hope for release, a new promise, a fresh breath of air tasting freedom as I close my eyes and pray. Am I beyond redemption or have I earned deliverance? I do not know but I hope with every frail breath that I take and soar in my imagination to the green open spaces where I can be free.
