Sheep, I Think Not

SHEEP, I THINK NOT
05/07/06

Wolves in sheep’s clothing – such faded attire,
Their existence so sad, ill, wasted, and minor.
Every morning clad in their much needed lies,
Their race’s imprecation are their fatuous lives.

Where do I belong among this phantom-like herd?
Do I stay who I am to one day fly like a bird?
Do I dare herald what I know and have them devour me in my sleep?
Or do I indifferently stay to myself – estranged . . . “a creep”?

So execrable this state! So shamelessly visible,
But no matter how casuistic, always tepid and risible.
Perpetual stupidity; O horror! O horror!
A multitude of madness, abhorrent mind-meld lore.

Scurry off to your workplace, your churches, your white picket fence,
Scurry away; I can no longer handle the stench.
Recalcitrant as can be, I am firm in my stance,
I dare pronounce my judgment; bring your case to the bench.

O these so-called sheep, how they fill me with fear,
Petrified of their dripping fangs so ready to shear.
Them insecure and in fright I declare poltroons the lot!
Sheep afraid of goats, but sheep...I...think...not!