The Shearing
Every night I sleep
amongst wolves dressed as sheep,
shivering, not because I feel cold,
but because I am terrified.
Midnight Eureka!
An apple lands
on my Isaac Newton within.
Eyeing the fence,
I run towards it
and take a leap:
rolling the dice;
ready for my lucky streak.
Next morning, I won't be wondering
about the shepherd's shaking knees
while he points his cane
to count his flock.
Tomorrow, I will be the fleeceless stray
chasing rainbows until dusk.
When the moon beams,
I will rest on lush grass, wondering:
Am I too wise to be a sheep?
This entry was for the contest Poetry Dice Challenge 3000, Week 25. This was yet again an amazing opportunity to leave my comfort zone and think outside the box.
Edit: I have posted a video where I recite this poem. The original video post is [Spoken Word Poem #5: The Shearing]. You can also watch the video here:
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