Hi again πŸ™‚ This is another poem that I wrote, aged 12 πŸ™‚

Across the desert the dog sprints at full pace,

A shadow moving discreetly across the sand,

Daring not to stop for breath,

Or even the smallest of rests,

Not yet ready to face the final cessation.

But after time the old dog becomes fatigued,

And now it’s not only a pack of his own kind chasing him,

But the knowledge that he’ll never win this race in any way,

A true underdog being hunted by the fittest.

Losing all composure he freezes in the moment,

And lays down on the baking ground of the wasteland to die,

Surrendering himself to the horrors of the things to come.

One by one the pack comes at him,

Rupturing him as the last of the light cowers sheepishly behind the skyline,

Most at a standstill, too nervous to intervene,

Their eyes are a thousand lifeforms,

Many things have they seen,

They don’t know what to do,

They don’t know what to say,

Too timid to make an objection,

Or have enough faith to say something.

But nevertheless the others are surely leading the way,

They wouldn’t listen anyway,

A place above in their juvenile hierarchy,

They have all the say.

Some hang their heads in shame as they slowly walk away,

While others parade wanting worship and fame,

Leaving the dog scarcely animated but he’s breathing frequently enough to be ok.

Slowly at first,

Then all at once,

The dog rises from the pool of blood,

Dashing into the distance,

Faster than ever before,

The stinging of the wounds recede like a wise man from the rest of the world as the dog spots something in the nearby distance,

Another lone relative trying to find his way,

Just another one like him living to survive and then die.

The worn-out, bloody, tired old dog chases his own reflection through the darkness,

He doesn’t care if this finishes him off,

He needs to catch his prey.

Failing to comprehend the bigger picture,

Empathy or a basic understanding is lacking,

He proceeds to hunt until he pins the dog down,

Digging his teeth into the flesh,

Ripping its soul out like life does to the living,

Like the others had done to him,

And then strolls away leaving a path of destruction behind.

Limping in the moonlight,

The second casualty of the night fixates himself on yet another faraway figure,

Some sort of inner strength bursts through.

And who can tell if deep down he’s dog or human,

It really doesn’t matter anyway,

For the two are one and the same.

Deep down he knows they’re all equal,

Not that it matters because for him that’s irrelevant,

He’s not a fool and he knows he must play the cards right and win the game,

Or end up facing eternal pain.

It’s black and white,

He kills or he dies,

The cycle of life continues tonight,

And never shall it change.

In the pandemonium world of today,

The way of dog-eat-dog remains.