Remorse Poem by Lone Dog

There it lay
In brilliant hue of red;
A flawless creation of God;
Crested, feathered, still warm;
A cardinal,
Cupped gently
In my trembling hands;
Stunning in its beauty,
Perfect in its form,
Glorious,
Magnificent,
Dead!

Shot by me
In a moment of unthinking youth.
Lined up in the crosshairs
Of my beloved Mossberg twenty-two rifle
That had claimed victory
Over many of nature’s small creatures.

There it lay in my hands.
I could feel its warmth –
The warmth of recent death;
A warmth that bothered me;
A stealthy, infiltrating warmth
That slowly seeped between the cracks
Of my cold but youthful heart
And changed it forever
As I stood there.

Never again would a finger of mine
Touch the eager trigger
Of a steel-barreled
Weapon of inhumanity.