The Killer Of Innocence
Upon a field of flowers, I stand
The smell of pine fills my nose.
I am nothing but a wasteland
I turned my head.
To see the flowers wilting.
Now it is winter,
The field is bathed in red.
And I, nothing but a sinner.
the flowers are dead
It is I who have the hands of Death.
The field of nothingness,
The summer is all I remember.
Faintly, the flowers and all their fairness.
charged with guilt, I surrender.
I sink into the earth
The killer of innocence.