Note:
This is a poem about my dislike of the fur industry and disdain for those who wear fur as a fashion accessory. It is not pretty, so you may not care to read it.
why do some wish to
stain the white snow red with blood
to steal the white fur?
why do some wish to
stain the white snow red with blood
to steal the white fur?
profit their motivation
their souls are dead within them
why do some wish to
subject the innocent to
their cold-hearted whims?
the cries of the dying fall
on deaf ears and decayed hearts
stain the white snow red
to line their pockets with gold
all for fashion's sake
fur lovely on the living
becomes ugly with carnage
to steal the white fur
go with clubs and guns and traps
animals in cages
not out of necessity
strictly a status symbol
strictly for profit
from the wealthy and heartless
wear their victim's pain
the beautiful fur adorns
the carcass now lies bloody
souls are dead within
the heartless social climbers
who wear their victims
as adornments draped over
their unfeeling carcasses
~Sly~
image copyright juliahenze @123rf.com
Cie's activist alter-ego Sly Fawkes has been on a tear the past couple of days.
