Thrillof the Kill
We are hunters,
and we are bold.
We hunt in packs,
our enemies untold.
Food is our mortal sin.
We must have it to live.
We take life to take it in.
Take it in to live and give.
We kill a plant,
with little thought.
Plant a new one
in the same spot.
Attack insects,
wherever found.
In the sky, water,
or on the ground.
Suffocate a fish,
by taking its water.
Scaling it alive,
to freshly slaughter.
We kill animals,
with hammers and guns.
Catch them unawares,
so nothing runs.
With every kill,
we get a rush.
High on adrenaline,
our faces flush.
Our bodies get hormones,
Endorphins flood our brains.
We thrill for the kill, but,
it's the kill that remains.
And so we kill,
for a noble cause.
Survival of the strongest,
or was it just, "because."
But when the killing's over,
and the dead rest supine.
Thoughts on the killing linger,
where good and bad combine.
Thoughts can come to haunt,
of the way the kill was done.
Long after the war is over,
and the battles have been won.
For there is no thrill in killing.
Just a job that must be done.
When we kill for pleasure,
our death's song is sung.
Bull elk killed in the
Targhee National Forest
on 9/20/06 by a friend.
Without their primary predator,
the wolf, elk have multiplied
and developed diseases and
overgrazed their range from crowding.
Managed hunting can improve
the health of the species.
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Copyright 2006 © Ronald W. Hull