The Route

Through early morning
dawn light,
a hundred heavy hooves,
the combined might of our peasant past,
thunders past,
vocalising with heavy voices
singing loudly, chanting now,
a single loud sad roar,
filtering through the gates and pours,
flows with purpose, and more,
noise, louder in unison, in harmony,
reaching a resounding resonance,
together a deafening reverberating
engine of gentleness
as eyes, wide, dark, lashes flutter
pretty faces, confused in fear
following each in front,
steer and then stutter,
hoping home is not that far,
but knowing deep inside
this, the route to the abattoir.

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Author: George McDermid

I scratch out poems, and the odd little tale. Mostly for my own amusement.

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