Butcher's Knife

Butcher’s knife…. There is a nasty butcher who kills all his life. All of us will be dead by that butcher’s knife. He loves blood, and demands worship day and night, He promises that good will come in this strife. He is making and then breaking with no shame. We all know him, and we call him by his name. I call him the butcher he lives by himself, He loves his knife and enjoys his vicious game. A lot of us, we do what the butcher asks. They kill for him as if they bond to his tasks. They don’t know how to live they see bloody knife. They walk as though they’re hiding behind masks. What will be happening, if the butcher dies? I am so curious if somebody cries. The sheep and all the cows will live without fear. There will be no threats, no pain, no more lies. Alas, my light of day turned into the night. Little candle of my life is without light. My pain is dark and I'm confined in this room, I will lose to butcher without any fight. One of these days he comes for my flesh and bone. That is his job; he does without any moan. Hope I will be alert and gaze to his eyes, Tell him this flesh and bone I’ll surely disown. 3/2/2018 Haloo