The Slaughter Poem by S.W. Clark

Darkness comforts the fleeing soul
It hides the flesh away
Haunting the feared
The stalker moves
with caution to kill
Without words to defend it's innocence
or weapons to equal it's foe
the weak ones shiver in thicket rest
upon hearing the gods, lay low.
The men laugh and gnarl, they joke
and pun
over things of beauty and grace
thinking themselves as above all earth
the Creators' only beloved race.
Who will speak for these muted ones.
Who will protect their living.
Who will cry when they have fallen
though we all possess the giving.

-(A Hunting of a Deer)