Slaughterhouse

I was in a field.

The field I was born in,

The only place I ever knew.

The grass was tall, green and went on for miles,

There was a few ponds here and there,

Places I could get a drink and cool off,

There was plenty of food to eat. I never went hungry,

There were trees that looked to be very old,

I'd sit under them for shade or climb them and take a nap in the branches,

The trees were my favorite parts of the field and they were scattered throughout,

There was a fence around the field so I could only go so far,

But this field, this world was huge,

More space than I'd ever need,

So the fence didn't matter.

I didn't care what lied beyond.

I was content.

Time passed the seasons changed and I got older,

I moved slower than I used to,

My hair was white,

My face was wrinkled,

But still I loved to walk through my field,

Still I loved the trees, though I couldn't climb them anymore.

One day a man came walking down the hill toward me,

He told me to come with him,

He led me to a large steel building,

Only one door leading inside.

He told me to get in line and so I did,

There were all sorts of people waiting in this line,

Young, old, men, and women of all different races.

All standing single file in this line.

Moving forward one step at a time.

Once I made it in I saw a man with a pneumatic gun,

As each person reached the front of the line he placed it to their head,

Pulled the trigger and they dropped dead,

One after the other,

I was the only one who seem concerned,

Everyone else just looked ahead with a blank stare,

Panic overtook me as I watched them drag body after body away,

Off to be slaughtered, disposed of, forgotten,

And when I reached the front of the line,

I looked at the man with the gun and I said

"please no not yet I'm not ready to go"

My eyes streaming tears,

He just looked at me with a face of stone,

Put the gun to my head,

Smiled at me,

And pulled the trigger.