The sun was Fiery
Burnt my skin,
Heated up my heart,
Dried up my tears.
Could I have been happier, If it rained instead?
Would I have loved the cold weather more?
Would I have being comfortable with the rain beating me?
Frustration choked my throat,
Anguish and pain in my heart,
My hands were heavy.
Could the rain have washed away,
The blood of the innocent I murdered?
Or could the sun have dried up,
The innocent blood flowing on the floor?
I had no reply,
Even though I washed my hands a million times,
Nothing will ever change the fact that my innocent hands
Had now become the hands of a murderer.
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