The Black Sheep
The Black Sheep
Worthlessness and fear enrapture you,
And they dwell in your soul quite deep,
When you live in the land of the white ones,
But you are a black sheep.
Perfection oozes from their actions,
A concoction of the best things they are.
Righteousness resides in their divine body,
They're as brilliant as a shooting star.
And yet here you are, a disgraceful creature,
you think coexistence can happen with peace.
What are you, compared to their godly demeanor?
As insignificant as a light breeze.
But light breezes can cause winds to blow,
And these winds can turn into storms.
Who was once living in the bondage of it's shackles,
Can rise up to change those norms.
They say their wool spins the finest yarn,
And those strings are compared to gold.
But at least your wool can spin cloth which,
Can shield the poor from the cold.
They say their horns are there finest in the world,
Worthy of fetching a handsome price.
But at least your horns can ward off enemies,
And may protect you if dangers arise.
They say that their bleats are a medicine to the ear,
It may even make a nightingale cross.
But at least your bleat is audible enough,
To get you back to the flock if you're lost.
"The flock"- a term that never amused you,
It's something after your departure you won't miss.
While all of them devour their feast together, you
Eat your grass in solitude's bliss.
But all of this never nibbled at your conscience,
Nor did it make you feel small.
Because not everyone can be born the same,
And no one gets this thing at all.
And so one fine day, the pastures decrease,
Now there isn't food for all the sheep.
So your herder decides to end some of you,
While some of you he decides to keep.
He looks at the white ones, with a glitter in his eye,
And advances towards them with an axe.
For it's their flawless horns, and their warmest wool,
That will help him pay his tax.
And now their soothing bleats can't help them,
Because Judgement Day has arrived.
And you, even after not being perfect,
Have victoriously survived.