Factory Fumes

Unfolded wings, feathers
tattered and gold tipped

The factory fumes shrivel
my still breathing lungs

That bloody machine whos
crank I have pulled so many
times, only my last shreds of sanity
holding me back.

It's the device that takes the
colors from the youth of our
misinformed society

My once white hooves stained by
the blood and tears
of the taken who I have
captured and hurt by the
wish of my superiors

I heard the tones of
the writhing, dying souls and
the broken spirits

and when I try to sleep,
I can still hear it

So I sing my song like
the Pied Piper, I lure the
children like mice

Now I sing my sorrowful
tune

of the Pegasus Device.

A poem by ten year old Baby Puppy.