The Beast

This poem is about the beast of guilt and fear.

The repressed beast sleeps
In the heart that keeps
Its guilt hid away,
And does not allay
The resulting fear
That judgment is near.

People have a mask
With the simple task
Of hiding the beast,
But guilt is a yeast
That grows in the shade,
And nerves are thus frayed.

Under calm layers
Are unspoken prayers
That the beast won’t break
From its bonds and shake
The mind’s calm repose
When its anger grows.

When we feel annoyed,
We cannot avoid
Knowing that the beast
Must be fast policed,
And when we feel rage
It’s breaking its cage.

Resentment’s a sign
That all is not fine
When we’re uneasy;
It becomes easy
To know just how near
Dwells the beast of fear.

The beast is not real,
But we will still feel
Its presence inside
While guilt we do hide;
The beast lives in shade
And keeps us afraid.

But, if we forgive,
The beast will not live;
The beast will dissolve
When we do absolve
Our self and neighbor,
A novel labor.

And when we are through,
The world will be new;
Our guilt will take flight,
Along with our fright:
The beast forgotten,
As not begotten.

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