We look at animals in the wild,
watch them segregate into packs
and eat their young.
Watch them spill blood for land, for resources,
trapped in their primal race for dominance and survival.

We look on at the cut throat nature of
their lives and tell ourselves,
“Poor beasts,”
“it’s all they know.”
Slaves to instinct,
bereft of the higher thought that could
free them from their painful cycle.

What’s our excuse?
What good is consciousness,
the ability to reason if we relentlessly choose not to?
If our eyes stare, too, hungry
out into the wood.