The night rings out a steady buzzing ballad

There’s an absence of stars in the man adjoined sky

Overall clad boys, deep in their slumber, obtain not a clue about the newfound life

Beady black eyes, swollen in their wake

Given not a conscience, hasn’t a choice to make

All that is known is warmth and stillness, a quiet that will be inevitably disturbed during the rooster’s outcry

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Picked up, like a rag doll, the impotent creature squeals

The bearer of the runt glares spades , equally helpless, undoubtedly afraid

Aware of the life that drops like flies

One morn present, next left to expire

“This one’s no good”, echos the freckled children

Their guardians instilled this rotten vision

Where prices lay high and wages dove low

These spotless souls were their only provisions

So, taken to the warehouse, unaware of what’s to come

The little one wiggles, its heartbeat a steady drum

Is it a fact of life or a copious violation?

That the little ones lie, inactive in their creation?

The thrum of sentience stills, silence grows

Following the slaughter, all is placid, yet none is right

Space slightly broader, the bearer is singled out tonight

The floor frigid on its once warm, soft fleece

Unknowingly awaiting its own release