Shooting aimlessly through the frozen flakes.
Bullets leaving nothing but death in their wake.
Running through the feilds of ice.
To escape the fate of deaths swift slice.
Climbing over a hill, the chase has not stopped.
But it won't be long until your luck has popped.
With a darkened last shot that rings in your ears,
Your shadow is gone, you light re-appears.
But all is not over when you start to feel weak.
Your guilt starts to crush you, your life springs a leak.
Laying your head on the soft, white snow.
You have many regrets with death's last blow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem