Even a Dog can Dream

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

A poem that brings up a social justice topic that is often overlooked. I am very passionate about stopping animal abuse; if the person reading this poem is an animal lover, I hope it hits home.

Sad to say,

I don’t have a name.

I see more than a same,

hollow array of grays.

but I am completely impervious to my own blood,

that steadily plops on a Nicotine stained carpet,

After I receive a beating from a figure gripping an old, worn wooden baseball bat.

Until it violently snaps, I hear an intense crack,

and a thousand tiny splinters zip into my upper back.

Unable to evade the beating because of a rope that ties my arms and legs to my body.

I notice the figure smiling, from ear to ear, at the pain he inflicts

A cynical grin, that is out of genuine enjoyment.

That lack of compassion, that lack of humanity, that lack of compatibility,

constricts my every bit of hope hope from ever escaping this world,

of violence and brutality.

When it snows, kids get the pleasure of playing in that snow, while wearing their new winter coats and craft marvelous snowmen.

Me? I spend my hours in the frigid snow tied to a rusty fence chain-link fence,

as chills elevate and lower down my spine.

When it is scorching, kids are entitled to stay inside.

Me? I can try to hide but I always end up outside and my paws are instantly fried as the searing heat of the cement leaves fresh blisters.

Sad to say,

I don't have a name.

I see more than a same,

hollow array of grays.

When my owner feels dismayed,

he rapidly chugs a few budweisers and sprays me with the nearby Formaldehyde.

The toxic subsides within my skin before I can make an attempt to escape and hide.

The toxic eats away at my fur and flesh,

a stinging spot is left and it will never properly heal,

and I am never properly taken care of, left to rot and die.

because I cannot speak any human language my voice is concealed.

Will that ever justify why I am treated so poorly?

For fun, my owner sneakily places rat poison pellets on the floor and I am choked or punched,

if I do not attempt to lick.

The pellets are bitter and I am suddenly feeling sick.

I hear a lighter being flicked.

A smell of burning fur and flesh floods the atmosphere,

and it feels like my tail is placed in boiling water,

My tail is on fire! and I chase it, running in circles

trying to put it out.

With every attempt my burning tail just seems to get farther from my reach.

Finally, the front door collapses to the ground, and one of the neighbors appears in my houndsight,

I notice his facial expression is tense, an expression that looks ready to save me,

from this everlasting scheme.

Well. Even a dog can dream.

Sad to say,

I don't have a name.

I see more than a same,

hollow array of grays.

But I am completely impervious to

Man’s best friend becoming man’s convenient punching bag.

 

 


Submitted: June 25, 2014

© Copyright 2022 lecram. All rights reserved.

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Comments

MILO112

WOW...THIS IS FREAKIN BRILLIANT... At first I thought I'm not gonna read it 'cause it's so long... I'm glad I did...I'm gonna remember this for a long time...

Wed, June 25th, 2014 7:24pm

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