Cows

Cows we wear around our wrists,
Around our waists, upon our feet.
A giant "M" looms in the distance,
"M" for mayhem, murder, meat.

No real lives do they have,
They are just food and clothes.
No time to dream or to look at the stars,
No one know cares, knows who they are.

We don't hear their silent screams,
We don't know their thoughts, their dreams.
To be born to die, one glismpe of the sky,
A feel for the dust in the wind.

Silence.

That one word rings a bell of shame.
Shame for the one's who eat them on buns,
Shame for those who could choose, and chose.
Teeth grind hope and life.

You can feel them in your throat sometimes,
And there they are, free without any bars,
A line of tiny animals headed for the stars.