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Poem

Tell me, dog with the big teeth,
What do you see past that muzzle of yours?
What do you hear through the whispers of those that go by?
You crave to feel human touch— 
Even the brush of fingertips against your ruined body
When someone walks past.
You long to be held like all the little dogs are:
Given fuss on the street and told such compliments— 
‘Oh, what a handsome boy you have there!’

Tell me, dog who was bred to kill,
Are you a killer now?
Through the actions of those who cross the road to avoid you,
You must still be. So angry and violent:
Your eyes shine red with the blood of your victims,
And your teeth are bared with malicious intentions.
But, by the actions of those who throw stones at you 
Whilst you lie, chained up in the park,
You could never be a killer.
Your patience shines brighter than your treachery.

Tell me, dog who has never known love,
When your living, breathing body was endorsed in flames
By some monsters who intended to kill,
Were your big teeth and brute strength able to save you?
And as your dying body burnt like the wick of a candle
Were you glad your time was up?
By the time you were found, you were too late to save,
And the only sympathy that was to be offered
Was having your cold, charred body cradled 
In the arms of someone who had never met you before.

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