It's not for the faint of heart

It takes a special kind of madness

To tear a life apart

To hear the birds scream and cry

Fearing soon they too will die

 

It takes a special kind of madness

To hang a body from a tree

To put holes in its stomach

To wait and watch it bleed

 

It takes a special kind of madness

To be proud of stealing lives

To have such a lack of sadness

To not even cry

 

The birds are rioting

Even the vultures flee in fear

There will soon be a quieting

Once he's finished with the deer

 

The tools will be bloody

The animal will be dead

And I will be hiding

From the lives that we shred

 

My empathy is strong

And my heart is even stronger

But I lack the madness

That would let me watch any longer

 

The madness that would let me watch the butchering

The madness that would keep my lip from quivering

I so lack that special madness

That would stop me from hindering

 

From hindering his progress

From assaulting his psychology

From questioning his morals

From crying an apology

 

An apology to the life

That is now forever gone

An apology to the future victims

As hunting season barrels on

 

It's not for the squeamish

It takes a special kind of madness

Not to feel so fiendish

 

They say it won't help

They say I'm not well

That's when I ask

Do you believe in hell?

 

Do you believe in eternal suffering?

Do you believe in infinite pain?

Do you believe in a madness,

From which there's no recovering?

 

If they say yes

Then I have a point

There is no substance you can anoint

To erase the blood from your flesh

 

Why would your god spare you?

When your god sees the killing that wasn't needed

Or when your god sees how you made them bleed?

 

Most of them don't listen

They say I've lost a screw

I just stare at the blood which glistens

And wonder what else can I do

 

I don't yet have an answer

A reason they can't ignore

So for now, I'll just hide here

From the pain, the blood, the gore

 

For now, the birds will scream

Still crying out with fear

They will flee at sounds of gunshots

They will mourn their friend, the deer

 

It takes a special kind of madness

The kind I've never had

And if this poem could change a mind

Our kind might not be as bad.