A soft look at a hard subject “Canned hunting” and the tribes who follow the new religion

What is it in the hearts of man

that presents a case to kill

to arm themselves

and leave their homes

and hope fresh blood to spill

burdened by the pressure’s of life,

perhaps their jobs

and decked out in their camouflage

they transgress into slobs

the 4×4 the ammo, the rifles and the bows

and if your name is Nugent

a machine gun,

I suppose

He’s  a vile transgressor

the criminality

off to find the unwitting one’s

and offer tyranny

extremists call to action

most hold down mundane jobs

they clearly bore

the pants off

all the so called knobs

inflexible and arbitrary

its extortion of the poor

the downtrodden

they have to resist it all

and just ignore

 a weekend away

from  purgatory

a sort of agitator

who won’t be pigeon holed

an undisciplined creator

who feels

he’s being told

what to do

and what not to do

and he

defects in to the forests for

a way to be

he needs to find a victim

to overcome his fear

its his, dark compulsion

but its anything but clear

bludgeoned by the systems

compulsive is his thought

he cannot get his way at home

and at work too he is caught

when he hunts

he becomes the  master

of his  circumstances, he

can wait for half a day or more

and just kill  instantly,

and gut it,

he’s the grand  master

really so to say

when he  goes back to his minions job

he doesn’t mind the pay

impotent, an inability to do anything

thats right

a failure, a castrato

an invalid worthless shite

thwarted by the system

undermined and lost

so the hunting with his powerless chums

is the maelstrom in which he’s tossed

his weakness means he cant stand up

to anyone

unless he’s hiding in the dark

to surprise them with his gun

neutralised by people but ready to accept

the killing of any animal

makes him more adept

he’s nothing but a vandal

ravaging on souls

the innocent the moderate

he’s one of the trolls

the animal fraternity

were born to allay fear

potential, they have potential

for with Mother Earth so near

they  feel her hypnotic influence

and realize her worth

able to be sociable

its truly their rebirth

but helpless in the face of hunters

who prefer to crawl

hide all drenched in camouflage

and clearly off the wall

armed up to their eyes

sexually and honestly

rather fruitless guys

canned and trophy hunting

is the pleasure that

they seek

they can get their guarantee

its their torment of the week

they hand over  their dollars

and the system does the rest

whatever they can afford to buy

that is their only test

their lives are in regression

disengaged they be

and in their heads I do suppose

a base reactionary

retreating from their normal life

a recidivist may be

who constantly fights his way

out of their paper bag to see

women  now are being drawn

into this weird menagerie

they radiate successfulness

when of course they just must be

so downtrodden

 the patriarchal system

has taken hold

and they are beaten black and blue

and left out in the cold

by circumstances of the day

its a kind of elevation

it lifts them for a while

even men  share their salvation

so they do it and they pose with

larger animals and show

the futility of hunting

as they plunge down and they go

the Universe is watching

the gods are less amused

Nemesis is shaking at how

souls are abused

the mortality is growing

everyone’s confused

the slaying of the innocent

meet the tear drops of the bruised

as the vital sparks extinguished

and Summerland does call

all of that vitality

all goes to the wall

sacrificed for what

a photograph in some old tome

and the family steeped in misery

plucked out of their home

their insentience is fraught

with a narcosis

insensible, quiescent

and sadly so

totally uncaring

and almost never sharing

sooty unfit passages

below

which occupies their mind

obscurity and blackness

is all a soul can find

a mindlessness, a misama

uninvolved and underlined

aggression like a coil wound tightly

that sometimes we all find

it confounds the so called hunter

caught up, in his own trap

unpredictable behaviour

for  what is a lonely sap

so gullible and senseless

they undervalue much

obstinate and embittered

and clearly out of touch

for them there’s no reality

their gullibility

precludes them from the

realization

they now can never free

themselves for they are robots

all frozen from the store

they do not have the where with all

they are the victims of their war