Junk Yard Dogs Reincarnated

Does it have to be this way?
cries the inner voice,
captured,
starved,
beaten,
trained to hate,
mostly self.

Bark loud,
bare your teeth,
growl some fear,
bellows the master,
gripping the chain,
choking and whipping,
burrowing his will deep into soft matter
once of connected neural sparks,
perpetual holiday glow,
now lit by dimming light,
the moonlight glint of razor wire captivity,
walling in all that's left.

Junk Yard Men-dogs

How calm once,
this miraculous sentience,
this simple love
born of gentle nuzzling caress,
a mother's honor to care,
given with innate affection,
nurtured,
attended,
guided,
until...

Somewhere along maturation's path,
fear mongers lobbied,
peacenik slurs became the battle cry,
as violence taught as norm
seeded fear into possession of arms,
the price one pays
to protect oneself,
says the master.

Others were cited as takers and manipulators,
launching paranoia into its insidious creep.

The blood stream's contamination grew,
pollution worked its eroding effect
‘til synaptic connections frayed.

Tenuous resolve succumbed.
Lights dimmed.
Sparks died.
Darkness became the light for many.

Does it have to be this way?

The junk yard dog defense in all of us
longs for the warmth of what once was,
even as collars cinch tighter,
chains jerk harder,
shouts to obey become louder.

Might there be no answer?

Might we be too far gone?

Might wars of mind
finally capitulate,
drift,
disintegrate,
become but dinner scraps,
to be fed to the next generation
perpetuating the endless cycle?

The mind set of junk yard dogs.

Not born,

but Reincarnated In The USA.