deepundergroundpoetry.com
In The Crossroads
Between the pines, the pathway ascends
The trail of sheep, goats and grazing bands
They pass, lowering heads, no bleat heard
Guided by strict orders, by stark shepherds
I watched the sheep cortege as it did quietly glide
Into the vast pastures, in such a flowing smooth tide
And so i hide among the trees, a watchful eye
They obey the inner feel onto whereon they lie
Still they are sheep, goats and rams,a clique
Taken blissfully or driven blindly, unto the hills
They know the route they must always take
They fear shepherd s' smell left in his wake
Why not then to drift away from the crowd
When pastures, fountain and sun are reward
For a shepherd never leads his flock astray
As the flock trust the smell felt the same way
And i, poor me, what guide have i trusted.?
A self wailing over a sacred life i've wasted
I have chosen no only one way to follow
No creed, not a sacred might to hallow
But, saw only a carnal self, thirsty and greedy
Epicurean in my vision, in my sacred religion
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