He came from another flock,
from another farm,
during the famine times.
He said,
“I will teach you how to survive
when the the soil
and the Shepherd
have abandoned you.”
His fleece was much the same as ours,
except shamelessly splashed
with streaks of crimson.
He said,
“Bring unto me your littlest lamb
and I will show you the way.”
I thought the horror would be to see
wolf fangs when he parted his lips,
but his teeth were the same as ours
and, with some effort,
he tore open the lamb’s throat
to lap blood with a quivering tongue.
We knew not what to say
to protest the hunger in our bellies.
His teeth were the same teeth as ours
when grazing upon the barren hillsides,
now repurposed with a terrible
resolve
to meet a terrible need,
as were ours
given time.
His teeth,
his fleece,
were the same as ours.
In Sheep’s Clothing
Published
Tangleroot And Tressknot 
Interesting construction. I imagine that there’s a message there, but, for the life of me, I don’t see it. Maybe I just don’t “get” blank verse. 😯
LikeLike
It is just about the horror of realizing the violence inherent in any flock, despite the pretenses of their innocence and beliefs. It is not the wolf in sheep’s clothing we must fear, but what happens to us when Necessity demands cruel choices.
LikeLike
Ahh, I see. Yes, you’re right. That’s an interesting – and chilling – observation. 👿
LikeLike