I’m sorry, snake. Though it is useless now,
I cannot offer you your life back. In return,
you, too, cannot absolve me, but, somehow,
I feel compelled to tell you: lesson learned.
Your primal instinct was to turn and flee.
My killer instinct was to give you chase.
Of course, I knew, you posed no threat to me,
but something told me: “Do it, just in case.
You have a child and the snake will grow,”
and other nonsense, much along those lines.
What troubles me the most is that I know
the devil’s voice now. And that voice is mine.
I never knew my aptitude to hurt
from the irrational, complete and utter terror,
until that day I chose to kill and to subvert
the rule of innocence. The ending of an era.
I know I’m guilty. I don’t seek a pardon.
Accept this merely as confession, snake.
I’m sorry, snake. Thus Adam left the garden
with something small that wasn’t his to take.