Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Animal Farm

This is kinder somehow.
A shotgun to the head,
Pow.

Like a third eye and
Them taking their final bow;
An easier good-bye.

With burdened bodies
And broken hind legs,
Death is a simpler way.

Only real cages
Create a cage with in;
Death takes them from this hell.

Peeled like walnut husks,
Their blood skins and stiff fur
Bleached and washed down the drain;

A careless insult of
All that salt and iron
Bathing in copper stench.

The living dead are near
With marred mouths shrieking, but
No one who cares will hear

Their language of fear with
Final cacophonies
Eulogies everywhere.

They smell their kin dying.
They all know their doom
Their families screaming,

And though their awkward tongues
Do not move as our own,
All of them repeating,

“We’re not here for slaughter,
We are here for you.
If you treat us kind,
We would die for you.

But this murder of our heads,
This blasting of our brains,
Our knees buckling
To the butcher’s refrain;

Treat us gently,
Treat us good,

We would go willing
To your table’s brood.

But abuse us and
Take our pastures away
And place us in a cage,

And you will see the day
When our hooves turn to justice
And our tongues learn your ways;

One day, our backs will carry no longer
The hot brands of slaves.”