Guilt Mongers

For some guilt is swallowed whole,
in great, gooey masses
with slurping; licking the last drop,
smacking the lips in satisfaction
for it gives them a reason
to exist, ponder . . . mea culpa.
Like beggars with a coveted treasure
they scurry off
to some dark corner
to examine and relive
the moments in truth
they alone live with.
And stare witless,
uncomprehending,to those
who don’t relish its pleasures
who commit acts of travesty
with nary a backward glance.
And the guilt mongers
squander their catch,
knowing there is always more
where that came from.

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