A Fashionable Slaughter
Jumping and running free, through the green bushes,
Laughing and playing, and living care-free,
Breathing in freedom, with essence of green lushes,
Crawling all over, and under the trees,
Now, for too many, it is only a dream,
As one can only hear their pain, and their screams,
When they’re strung upside-down and skinned alive,
Required to feel every stroke of the knife
While their skins are peeled from their body, like threads,
And crudely smashed to the wall are their heads,
While some of them still cling to life,
Gasping their way through the pain of the knife,
Even after their skins are removed,
The slaughterer’s heart is never moved.
While their furs are shipped off through boats,
To be worn on the town as hats or as coats,
To serve up fashionable wintertime trends,
The cycle of pain never truly ends,
For the pups who still lie waiting in the cage,
Safely secured from the public outrage.
Unheard are all of the agonized cries,
Filling the ears of the worst sort of man,
Wasteful are all of the countless tries,
To fight for their freedom, however they can.
Still, at the end, a slim hope sustains them,
That there might at least be a single stem,
From which will come some person with heart,
To end all the smashing, the being torn apart,
Someone who will rise above those of small mind,
and open the eyes which have thereto been blind,
or at the very least, put an end to fur fashion,
And spread wide their voice with some compassion.
(2012)
