The shadow of guilt swept across the room, Like black doves on a mission, It swooped down on the man sitting on the sofa, With hands covering his grief-stricken face. Alone in the room he sits, hurt by his own Existence Why, what, how could it happen? The giant hand which scooped him from the flames of hell seemed at fault now. Yet as he sits alone, he is praying – Not for things to get better, or for her to come back. He’s just praying that he could simply, Forget.