Supposing creatures had a voice,
Would they really say that we could eat them?
Would they really step forward willingly to the abattoir?
Like Lamb to the slaughter…
Or do they too speak profound thoughts?
Could they or could they not,
We may never find out this,
But, surely we must believe they are more
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

Could they think from a new perspective?
Evolve or Die? **** or be Killed?
Could they really want to be sacrificed?
Their deathbed a slab of concrete,
An axe as their executioner,
And a butcher’s as their tomb…
Their only purpose in life nothing more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

Should they really see a new lease of life?
Given the freedom of the grassy plains,
Or left picked apart, the bones scattered,
The prime cuts selected, The gristle dumped.
The only purpose as food for a higher being,
The only question on another’s lips.
How much are you willing to pay?
After all…
It’s nothing more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

After all is slaughter any different to hunting?
The axe as the fangs, the predator as the executioner,
The prey is the cattle, the wildebeest, and the animal.
The thrill in the chase, but not in the capture,
So why does it end in slaughter?
Surely the prize is a little bit more,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

We may argue and we may debate,
The civil rights of these animals.
But so many people cannot see,
They think them merely as a meal.
So blind to sight and yet so advanced,
But nobody sees the hidden obliviousness,
For they cannot see animals are more than,
Than just a simple slab of Meat.

That old coat, the one you wore,
You wore in laughter,
Drenched in rain, cold water  pouring, droplets of pearls,
Glistening in light of the single star, the one,
Which didn’t die yet.

That old coat, which sits by the fire,
A hearth of orange, now only black,
Devoid of colour, life, warmth,
A dead tinderbox, of passed emotion,
And happy feeling, all turned grey.

That old coat, frayed, torn.
The brown leather faded in patches,
Patches of memory, think back,
To happy days once before,
That old grey coat, you used to wear.

That old grey coat, stained in mud,
Undistinguished in the rough hide,
And broken seams, rough stitches,
Coarse repairs to hide the scars,
Of just been worn out.

That old coat,
You used to wear,
The one which was a part of you,
Sitting on a rusty peg, holding memories, so carefully.
The snap. The drop. The thud. The coat falls.
And the thoughts shatter again.

Dear me,
How is life?
Still as callous, crass as childhood,
Fraught with broken dreams and crushed hope,
Which you tried to hang onto like a ladder,
Crumbling to dust with time.

Did you ever talk to her?
Let her know the truth of how you felt.
No?
No shock there. You always were a coward.
Mesmerised by silky skin and waving locks of hair,
Which waved goodbye as they progressed away,
Like a train you could never board.

Did you ever get the dream job?
The one you always told me about,
In hushed whispers, no-one else cared,
Because it was our little secret,
A specialist subject shared only in the language of you and I?

What about friends?
Don’t need them. Ah, I see.
A disagreement. Something for me to look forward to.
Is it looking back for you? This endless monologue
Of progressive thoughts, think think think!
Is this what you wanted?

And what of your hopes? Dreams? Desires?
The pieces of paper which you plotted and planned a dream life,
Shredded into fragmented dust by the monotony of boredom,
Which comes from being average.
A nice life?

You want to know about me?
Little to say, I am young,
Tender, soft-skinned, pampered by
Those agitated puppets who I controlled for years,
Under the ruse of parenting. They are gone now.
For today at least. Time to sleep apparently.

And now, I lie here, in my crib,
A baby, life is new to me, I am pure,
No. That’s stretching it too far.
I have a chance and a choice. A power,
A privilege, freedom, lost on you,
Bestowed on me.
I pray I use it right.

As I write this letter in my mind,
With foamy letters built from hazy thoughts,
I think to myself, is this what I want to be?
Is this future real, or imaginary?