As truth
languishes
behind the
blue wall,
and warps
inside the
fearful mind,
sheep wander
from the flock
unsure of what
wolves
they’ll find
when heeding
the shepherd’s
call.
In the distant
pasture,
the cattle graze
lowing complacently
as they avoid
the moral maze,
while dreaming of
halcyon days.
Where the grass
was greener,
but, then,
that was on
the other side,
where sins
would hide
in cloistered
confessionals,
and still
I shrive.

M. Zane McClellan

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