The Question

Writers Envy

What I fear most when I appear at the gates of Heaven is a question:
“My son, why did you kill the sparrow?”

I raised my BB gun and aimed;
At the end of the cold steel barrel
sat the sparrow singing its song
of joy, and happiness, and innocence;
I pulled the trigger and let fly the BB;
The golden pellet raced through the space
of a moment and entered the sparrow’s
soft, downy white breast and raised
a puff of tiny, fluffy feathers;
Then time slowed to a motion so fluid
I could see the tiny red spot appear
and spread on that harmless, flawless
Soul.
Then my world grew quiet when the singing
stopped as Life flew from the tiny breast,
And I grew somber as I watched the
little bird fall dead from its perch and lay
lifeless on the cold, hard dirty surface of
the…

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