Hunting Season
It's not for the faint of heart
It takes a special kind of madness
To tear a life apart
To hear the birds scream and cry
Fearing soon they too will die
It takes a special kind of madness
To hang a body from a tree
To put holes in its stomach
To wait and watch it bleed
It takes a special kind of madness
To be proud of stealing lives
To have such a lack of sadness
To not even cry
The birds are rioting
Even the vultures flee in fear
There will soon be a quieting
Once he's finished with the deer
The tools will be bloody
The animal will be dead
And I will be hiding
From the lives that we shred
My empathy is strong
And my heart is even stronger
But I lack the madness
That would let me watch any longer
The madness that would let me watch the butchering
The madness that would keep my lip from quivering
I so lack that special madness
That would stop me from hindering
From hindering his progress
From assaulting his psychology
From questioning his morals
From crying an apology
An apology to the life
That is now forever gone
An apology to the future victims
As hunting season barrels on
It's not for the squeamish
It takes a special kind of madness
Not to feel so fiendish
They say it won't help
They say I'm not well
That's when I ask
Do you believe in hell?
Do you believe in eternal suffering?
Do you believe in infinite pain?
Do you believe in a madness,
From which there's no recovering?
If they say yes
Then I have a point
There is no substance you can anoint
To erase the blood from your flesh
Why would your god spare you?
When your god sees the killing that wasn't needed
Or when your god sees how you made them bleed?
Most of them don't listen
They say I've lost a screw
I just stare at the blood which glistens
And wonder what else can I do
I don't yet have an answer
A reason they can't ignore
So for now, I'll just hide here
From the pain, the blood, the gore
For now, the birds will scream
Still crying out with fear
They will flee at sounds of gunshots
They will mourn their friend, the deer
It takes a special kind of madness
The kind I've never had
And if this poem could change a mind
Our kind might not be as bad.