Everything abused and fingered,
meddled with and stained...
is softly passionate and whispered
til a heart is changed.
Standing in the middle
of an emptiness so full
that it seems to be too big to realize
and so, invisible;
the hunters run away to kill
themselves responsible.
Hunted like a terrorist to silence unto death;
slandered by the chanting masses'
programmed prepared breath...
Rebuked, as devils ought to be,
and yet it somehow stays
the hand that works against its ways.
Accused it smiles, and killed it lives
a venom to the conscience
and uncured by excess filth.