While standing at the gates to hell,
I ask myself a question.
Why did I live my life in the ground?
Ignoring my potential,
And undautingly pushing you away?
Why did I not wish for love,
The one time I had the chance?
I should have been climbing skyscrapers,
To touch the stars,
Rather than digging holes,
To reach the bowls of hell.
Why did I die a criminal,
When I could have lived life a hero?
(03.31.2007 - Vancouver, Canada)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You lay out past regrets in a clear, yet powerful style.