If Only Hyena's Could Eat Grass

My stomach rumbles empty sound,

full of grass not a spec of meat to be found,

The doe and buck lay plump and full,

tall grain and grass enough to satisfy

their innocence of soul,

But vicious is mine, belly scarred, thin, and void,

it craves flesh and marrow yet teeth stay bared toward the only food it has been told

My lungs will rasp a tired tune,

dull stripes and fur fall clumps to dirt,

And organs fail as death surely looms

Deer will gather, curious not cautious,

My slipping skin ripped by hooves, callous,

Short legs will stand tall no more,

Rotting my vessel for soul now pure,

Birth born shame my righteous torture will cure,

And when my body turns dust,

blood soaked grass shall grow,

grazed by sated and fat buck and doe

And with my dying wish,

I plead no deer will ever know,

on what Hyena's truly need, to feed on and to grow.