Entrapped behind rusty bars
Chains grip at our ankles.
Gazing out
With piercing, bloodshot eyes
Gray-faced, lifeless,
Like the man in the moon.
Our bodies declawed,
A society muzzled
Craving freedom
Craving existence
Craving life
beyond this vile torment.
Our fangs are sharp
Yet hidden from view
Their message, desired to be heard.

We are the pack
With our noses to the wind
Which drowns out our howls
That ring amidst the torture.
Our backs bare
Our skin fair
Yet dripping crimson red
From the vicious scars
Along our protruding, broken spines.

While our numbers dwindle
We face the fear of extinction,
We dream of running beneath the moon
Through the pine trees
Feeling the freedom in our souls
Triumphantly galloping
But now
Blood runs in the streams
The vision of hope, shattered
All that’s left is the
Muffled howl we cry out
Letting them know
This is not our home.