Wool and Wolves Blood
A little spin on the wolf in sheep's clothing and the sacrifical lamb.
If a sheeps out of line?
Woe be to the wool weaver.
When the naturally wooled turns out to be wolf like as well
Yet not a deceiver
For It was an illusion not clothing dawned
Meaning the sheep can’t help how it was looked upon
So the falsely dressed had a bark but not a hand to find
To lead him up and out from the dark
So he Walked right into his own bind
But The hunter knew it not yet
For late in the game it had become
To the silver tongue
the hunter had succumbed
And rested weary in his indolence
And Turned home long since
Oh he never knew What The trap had got
For this lamb not a lamb
ran straight through it and jumped
What it knew shadowed wolves could not.
And long after morning the wolf still caught
And the fanged lamb ran still when when the hunter took the shot.
Was the sheep ever a sheep at all?
Somehow I think not.
But the face of the illusion down to the semi wolf’s skin
For when it turned its face to look back at them
This gentle wolfs eyes shed a tear onto the cheek of a lamb.
A sacrificial lamb
Will run its own scam.
And turn itself into bait
For the fool who dares to irate
Will not last the hunters moon.
So foolish to assume
That wool or fur cover a skin
Before ever thinking twice or again
You may have them all wrong.
What you were searching for all along
Wolf still in the snow
Bled out through the throat
Are you sure it Was the lamb sacrificial?
That same lamb that is biblical?
Do you know?
It Would scare the shit out of a den of wolves.
Read about their true face
They leave no space for innocence
Blood of the lamb
Eyes like the fire
Bigger than mountains
And the angelic sire
Where its paths trace
Where the lamb will never tire
But the head of the lamb gives grace
Because it knows it would’ve never been slain at all in the first place.
It simply watched the race
The track was a circle
So what they thought was being hunted
Was only leading the chase.
Now a wolf lies dead
And the lamb turns back to look again.
How many times the wolf is a friend
Wether they knew it or not
But falling still was the den
For in fake clothing They’d been
The pack was only mindless followers of the first
And within a narrative immersed
Hungry for blood and sick with a thirst
To trick and label and plot
But would the lamb ever die?
Somehow it thinks not.
—C.R.Stanger
Haha kinda a funny poem.
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