The Herds

I believe! Though little knowing—
Facts mean naught to herds below.
To the barking, snarling, crowing
Dogs, they yield and blindly go.

Herds are tightened, penned in places,
Marked for slaughter, bound to fail.
Faith persists, as time erases—
Sheep comply with darkened tales.

“Laws” decree: the shears are needed
For the health of every lamb.
Rotting hay by rain is seeded,
Mud-soaked pastures—who gives damn?

Shepherds, wise, intend no sorrow
For their docile, woolly throng.
Blades are honed, and come the morrow,
Neighbors fall—the weak, the wrong.

And the nearby flocks are trembling—
War returns to claim its due.
Drink your fill, oh beasts assembling:
Blood will flow to sate the few!