The Wrong

In my room I sit once again, outside the light so bright shining with all its might within, I turn away from that bright light to undo what I have not done right.

I then close my eyes and think again, the wrongs I have done hurt again, and in my room in which I sit, looking at the candle which I have lit.

On a paper I write a rhyme, of the time I did a crime to all who love to rhyme, a crime of vengeance to all the right, a thought of killing in a dark gloomy night.

I sit here in my room, rhyming of the crime which brought me to my doom, thinking of a way to make it all go away into the fires burning in my room.

But I will never be free, a rhyme cannot change my time, in this dark room I plead to be free of all the crimes which I have never wanted to be.

Its now that I wish to do the right, in my room in now a dark and dreary night, I ponder why I did the wrong, I ponder why I must stop this wrong.