What have I done? This hundred grand, this gun.
By my feet his bloodied body lays, his green eyes glazed.
My tear stained cheeks, my white clenched teeth.
My knees fall to the ground, as if my ankles have just been bound.
I cry out why, to the clouds in the sky.
Why must I fall victim to greed? That hundred grand, did I really badly need?
So many other choices, yet I chose to kill, this innocent man on the grassy hill.
A stranger? No, but an old friend. Why by my hand must his life end?
Riddled with guilt, I know what I must do. I take my gun, point, and shoot.
Beside him, my body fell. His soul to Heaven, mine to Hell.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem