Oh to die by nature.
Men can be evil,
with everything.
If evil was the end
my last breath might flow
to spite or curse the men
who took the life of a man.
I’d rather face a sore
old bear and feel
claws carve me to strips,
and teeth tear and crush
bones, skull, heart and veins;
and tongue lick muscles
into the gut, for winter sleep.
I’d prefer that end
to suffering life lost
by a human gang slaying
without hunger or skill to kill.
Battering, hacking, bashing, booting
until life is taken away
in a most unnatural manner.
Then evil is fed instead
of a sore old bear
trying to make it to spring.
Starve the evil so that
it must consume itself
barely sustained by its own
black heart and sooty lungs.
Losing life to nature
is useful to everything
helping all go on and on.
Losing everything to a man
is an infection on the living,
a pox on sharing souls.
My life to the bear.