Far in the distance, a blade whirs,
Prepared to fulfill its purpose
As a tool of destruction and
Population control.

A congregation of hundreds,
Gathered together for reasons unknown,
Ignorantly await their fate.

And soon, the spinning razor is among them.

Ragged gashes rip through the innocent,
The weapon uncaring of the location-
Head, middle, diagonal, horizontal-
As long as it does its duty.
Decapitated limbs fly through the air,
And now-severed veins pump out bodily juices to join them,
Tingeing the sky with their unique scent.

Yet another tool of yet another genocide,
Another Holocaust,
More unnecessary death and violence,
All thanks to the controlling, malevolent nature of the
Human race.

The lawn-mower is pushed onwards to greener pastures.