Herding the Sheep

Hadn’t always been a need to flail about.

Not far from home.

Just remote enough,

to go it alone.


Peril clung to hanging flaxen rope.

Ram and rod.

Tusk and bone.

Sheepishly, the somber slates called for more.


Misshapen, hap hazard, no bare-feet.

What a dwelling?

Deposits of life gone by.

I turn away as if, shy.


The welfare of woolpacks seemed… hung upon in jeopardy.

Horns and scorns.

Orphanages of beast…herded without care.

Remote justification of arrogance.

Vainglory, skinned and bare.





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.