Tag: poem

  • Pig Butchering

    Today we have taken.
    A release of long held breath, shaken.
    Grasped at what we require.
    In bowing heads to Death, we tire.
    In tradition we reap,
    A celebration we weep.
    Desperate for our own creation.
    Men shy at Mothers manifestation.
    Earth in all her requirements to exist.
    Many we have made to needlessly persist.