I owned a bar and I was a successful bartender.
But all of that changed when a customer went on a bender.
He drank too much and I knew that he was in no shape to drive.
If I hadn't sold that much booze to him, three people would still be alive.
He killed those three people when he smashed into their car.
I'm partly responsible so I've decided to destroy my bar.
When I think about those dead people, I feel guilt and sorrow.
A wrecking crew is going to demolish my bar tomorrow.
I can no longer find inner peace even though I search.
I'm donating the land to some people who will build a church.
Donating the land won't make up for my mistake but it will be a start.
I really need to find inner peace because this ordeal is tearing me apart.
I'm moving to another town because the families of the victims want me to go away.
I really hope that God and those families can forgive me someday.
(Even though this poem is fictional, bartenders who sell too much booze to people are partly responsible for drink driving fatalities.)
