BY GRACE STRANGE

 

The slightest noise, silence follows…
Where silence goes, death follows…
Enjoy the birds singing, and the whistle of the wind…
The rustle of the leaves.

When silence comes into view…
Death is near…
Silence brings death, the deer and rabbits know…
After silence, is the bang of a gun, the slash of a knife…
It echoes across the woods…
Announcing its victory, and another’s death to the world.

This is the world…
The forest knows.

Hope comes with the birds song…
The wind…
The noise…
But when it ends…
The animals hide.

This is the world…
The forest knows.

The cruelty is a trophy…
The hunter’s pride.

But when the wolves howl…
The hunters…
Become the hunted…
Unless silence falls upon the wolves…
Then their rose red blood…
Stains the forests kind green…
The forests, food chain backfires…
The hunters ended peace…
The hunters started a war…
A war of survival.

Now the prey is abundant on half the forest…
Then scarce on the other…
The wolves die on one side…
Then strive on the other.

The wolves, they hunt the hunters…
But the hunters hunt them…
For a trophy…
For fame…
For money…
It’s all the same.

The war of men…
Remains untamed…

 

This story was submitted for The Common Room, a place for all young people to share their views. Got something to say? Everyone’s welcome – click here to contribute!

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