An Arbitrary Law Of Society

Finalist in the 'The Text Generation 2014' competition

A blanket of leaves, a mattress of earth - the chill that creeps and grows inside.
Tossed and tumbled by Fate's cruel tide
how did I come to regret so my birth?
The sun breaks through; now day is lit,
gold drifts like spent birch to the ground.
I hear faint flapping where wounded I sit - they're piled, dying, in a mound.
Spread and broken o'er the leaves,
their feathers matted, mouldy thatch.
Hooded eyes like shadowy eaves -
poor victims of Man's hunting match.
Shaded by trees with their blood beading bright - feeble, as from them I
steal life.
Slain for payment of Nature's tithe;
the license to live - at least I have that right.

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