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I live a boring and lonely life
It is quite and quiet living with this companionship
For apparently I am too holy to be friends with
And too much a sinner, too.

Who cares
The Elk shot by hunter
Passes on the grace to more
While brute merely digests
The material energy of gore.

Who cares
The squirrel killed by cat
Passes on his legacy
Which is never found by crude claws
Meant to shit and piss
For he isn't a word that's been known to be erased
And even now forests grow

Who cares
The bird eats the bug
And when birds die they get eaten by bugs
It's not my place to fear them
For they are dead to Lord and do not hear him speak
They see with eyes borrowed or lent
And kill but flesh in hopes to feed their belly
Perpetuating the very things they fear.
The death, the sin, the anger of innocents

And harried world will continue
As they know not the way of Peace or Love or Humanity
as Elk or cat or squirrel or bug
For they do not speak to the wind
And forgot their names
Living as children without teachers
Except a dusty old book trimmed to fit their materialism.
May they forsake their idols they've created from money, power, and respect.