Winter Lambs

There lay one corpse

   On the ground, cold and wet

From above, another hangs

From the throat drips blood

   That stains the ground a crimson red

 

Upon both faces is terror

Like a picture, forever frozen

   In a horrified expression of impending doom

The eyes are black orbs, not quite clouded

   But sharpened by an adrenaline rushed fear

This is the face of death

 

The witness of these sacrifices

   Is unforgettable

The look on their faces

The gleam in their eyes

The flow of their blood

 

And I watch

I swear it breathed

I saw it blink

But, I know, this is simply the mind's way of

 Rejecting the acceptance of death

 

And I now hold a heart

   Still burning with life

   In this cold place of death

 

This is the slaughter of winter lambs

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

need to work out a few kinks. but it works for now.

I actually wrote this about the slaughter of lambs. in ag bio, the butcher came to take care of the lambs, and we had the choice to watch. a raised hunter, I couldn't resist. and when he severed the heart, I got to hold it. I'm not going to lie, it was pretty epic.

as far as the poem itselfe goes, i dont actually feel this way. to some extent, i support the slaughter of animals for food products. i just wrote it for the cool effect.