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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Animal · #1689567
A protest poem
Rats run over my feet
As I watch them in my sleep
Terrors of sharp claws and teeth
Shredding up the meat

The paws stretch out to scratch
In this bloody murderous match
Hook-like claws catch
And hold on in a true death latch

Rat voices squeal
As their relatives become a meal
The bloody losing deal
Its hard to remember its all real

Rat pups take their first hard breath of air
A great big blob of slicken hair
Just to live a day they need all the care
So what do they do when their parents aren’t there

Starved to the point of near death
All the fathers up and left
All they can spare to buy more meth
To forget about the leaders latest theft

Scampering through the walls like moles
Avoiding the cat paws sticking through the holes
The enemy treated like dolls
While the victims are left with empty souls

Forgotten, pushed out of mind
Left with all they can find
So much to do to be considered kind
Everyone just seems so blind

Pinkies scatter round in fright
No more can relief be found in daylight
Ghost stories are out in with the stuff that just might
The stuff about the killing and the fight

Look around, everything's grey
Even though it’s the middle of May
All gathered around to here rats say
It doesn't end here, not on this day

Praying to a deity only some believe in
Signing papers to ship their stuff off to their kin
Through the cities always such a din
To wish for yesteryear now becomes a sin

Rats in charge abuse the power they get
They think of all the things they've done, all the people they've met
No matter what rats do, their minds are set
Who will be better-it’s a gambling bet

When war breaks out, everyone issued with a bomb and a gun
Grabbing their young, looking for somewhere safe to run
A doe stands with her pup, what has she done
A ticking time-bomb that nobody knows-its all for fun

I watch as the rats run over my feet
I watch them run in my sleep
We are the same, pointless lumps of bad meat
Poisoned, killed off if we so much as peep

What's the point of living here
The deathly end is always near
What's the point of living in fear
What's the point, I ask you my dear.
© Copyright 2010 clare j (blondo101 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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