Brutes like me, grow up to be,
Brutes in adult life,
What did I know, when blind to see?
Of life’s eternal strife,
Why you ask? Wherefrom such thought,
Had you been wrapped in cotton balls,
Something had not seen, you ought,
When you were raised, in life’s great halls,
A brutal tongue, the taste buds formed,
Nourished by design and love,
Of knowing not, it was not scorned,
So said the voices from above,
The sacrificial lamb it was, or pork,
Spread, so lovingly on rye,
Then still believing in the stork,
I asked not questions why,
The thrust of life, it took its form,
So many ways, I know,
Thereafter, soon become the norm,
The wheels, that I would tow,
The lamb, the piggy on the rack,
Objects, lifeless, morsels, tasty,
Would bring a Mac Attack,
When hunger strike me hasty,
For many sins, and for our use,
The good book, says it’s so,
From early days learned to abuse,
But never did I know,
The mind is formed, and numbed to sleep,
Ne’r disturbed by real truth,
All its treasures does want to keep,
It collects in early youth,
The fear, the blood, the knife at throat,
For failure of compassions sake,
From early youth had gone that road,
And seen much love, that lust would slake,
Brutish still, I prey to eat,
For I have learned this is the way,
There is no sin, in eating meat,
When later on, I’ll bow and pray,
So cut the throat, and bleed the lamb,
For sins I plenty have,
May wash its blood, the brute I am,
Therewith my conscience salve,©09/11/2010
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Thank You, Jasmin..
John