The Obscured Conscience
In a stranger’s kitchen, he whispered in
a voice, lumpy from lack of use
It’s my fault
I think I’m going to hell.
I’m sorry
She stopped breathing,
she clenched her hands as if to pray
Why did I have to build that snowman?
They buried him in the snow.
If only he’d turned for one last look
at his family as he left the apartment.
Perhaps then, the guilt might not
Have been so heavy.
It tortured him.
I’m sorry
Immediately, Her brother was
next to her, whispered for her to stop, but
He died in a train, buried in the snow
No final goodbye, no final grip of eyes.
I’m sorry
The two most pitiful words
To live – living was living, but the price
Shame and guilt, suffering,
and Condmnation.
I'm sorry.
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