Shall I Speak of My Discontent?

Shall I then speak of my discontent?

Shall I say out loud how I cannot stop grieving for all the buffalo 
		herds that they have killed,

And I can't stop grieving for all the Indians they have killed,  

And I cannot stop grieving for all the lakes and woods, and prairies 
		and oceans they have killed, 

And I can't stop grieving for the Eskimos and the Lapps and the 
		Caraja' and the Zulus and the Tarahumars and the Bushmen
		and the Pokot and the Inadan and the Yanamano and the Kalash 
                and the people of Ladakh, 

And I cannot stop grieving for the Rhinoceros and the Osprey and the 
		Mountain Lion and the Whale and the Eagle, 

And I can't stop grieving for all the yellow children they have 
		killed and the black children they have killed and the
		Jewish children they have killed, and the children of the
		Arabs and the Afgans,

And I cannot stop grieving for the spanish speaking children they are
		 killing and whose parents they are killing, 

No, and I can't stop grieving for the unborn children they are
 		 killing, 

And I cannot stop grieving for all the acceptable nuclear kill counts that they now plan to kill.  

I can't stop grieving for the earth as a living being.  

I cannot stop grieving. 

Shall I speak then of my discontent, 

And how I miss the wild flowers nodding and dancing in the gusty 
		spring in a virgin prairie I have never seen?

Shall I speak of my discontent---my bone the pick with this only way 
		of life that is left for us to live?

Where in all this killing shall I make my home?

And to whom shall I speak of my discontent?

And why?