Guilt

by

Richard Betts Jr.

How did I manage to make it?
How did I somehow survive?
I look at the others who perished,
And I ask myself, "Why?"

Why was I so fortunate?
Why not me instead of them?
I often see their faces;
A silent roll call of our dead.

Nighttime is the hardest,
For my slumber is less than kind.
And carrying around these questions,
Weighs heavily on my mind.

Sleep comes hard, but when I sleep,
I always dream in red.
And lying there in the fields,
Are the scattered bodies of my friends.

When I walk by any garden,
All the flowers seem to wilt,
Like they are being crushed
By the weight of all my guilt.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Unfounded fears
by: Satish Kakri
from: Mumbai, Maharashtra, India

To visit all of Richard Betts Jr.'s poems, click HERE

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