Hawk Within

There is a hawk within me

that oft must kill to live.

What part of God is this?

While the status of the human

as prime and proper predator

is self evident,

I cannot help but fret upon

the question of the kill itself.

Am I the dainty savage with her

pinky raised while pecking

flesh of beast off sterling prongs as if

chiffon? Am I the big-bellied

belch machine extolling on the

finer points of gluttony unfettered

in buffoonery?

This could be enough for me to

ask of love and bliss to take their

leave of what it is I dwell upon

until I know my place among

the creatures that I thrive upon.

Why claim the kinder graces?

Why would I be so quite amazed

that one should die that others live?

It happens everyday. The

twisted knot of dominion is

double-bound against my own

delusion of being free to teeth into

the living fabric of this earth without a

care. Great reverence and a solemn

self appraisal might accompany the

hand raised against the breath of

being in another.

As for this hawk within that soars

in warm ascension yet will plunge

by sheer default I pray that I

will die with what I kill

to any thought of claiming right,

instead beseech my prey to live

it’s life through me and I through it.