The life that pleats before you, was not different than your own,
But still, in its own way, beautiful, and worthy of love and of breath.
She is not some corrugated box to just be thrown away,
And then just left to sit out in the rain to mold, or to rot.
The dust that covers this life, are the moments that it once held dear.
Our language may be different,
Our ears might hear different things,
But our eyes still search for security, promise, and resources.
This life is worth more than ivory upon her chest,
But still, you continue to exploit it.
While you are on your quest for a trophy that you will never find.
Not here, not now.
You must first find it within yourself,
Until then, you hunt.