Lamb

Oh, the wool was over my eyes this time,
the scratchy yet comfortably warm mask of emotion
that obstructed my vision, my blind woman’s bluff,
yet you were the one bluffing, unspoken yet by no means uncertain,
leading me to pastures no longer verdant, perhaps never so,
especially in comparison to the field I momentarily left.

But the grass not greener was never so more seemingly green,
and I had been so out of touch with humanity, so
long without others’ compassion, that I mistook
your kind smiles, your sensitivity for wiles,
perhaps purposely unaware of the miles
that truly lay between us, your sheep’s clothing
a handy bridge for the snake beneath
to creep into my heart, its death squeeze erstwhile unnoticed.

But you, so seemingly sensitive to my needs,
you, so seemingly harmless in deed,
in reality purposely misleading me
off the beaten path of truth to the tangled web of lies I lived,
thankfully for not long but too long still, too long.

How could you not have noticed? Lie no more to me,
claiming innocence, claiming ignorance, claiming
it was for my own good.
Now the wool is gone, ripped by one who truly loved me,
truly cared, not this false quote-unquote relationship
where the only one who cared
was me.

And it would have been understandable, painful in its own way,
if I was laid and lain there to shrivel in my stupidity,
at least then it would have been more obvious how you
have taken advantage of me, I mean, those things happen
when one is vulnerable and broken, with no fault of their own
save their lack of knowledge and lack of cynicism, truly the faithful flock,
but now the shepherd is the butcher, not of my body
but now of my heart, not truly given
but falsely taken and stolen and murdered as I
trustingly followed the crook of your finger,
never once having the least suspicion that your
forbidden fruit was simply wax, never truly there
but present the same, weighing in my heart, my mind,
my conscience of how could I be so stupid once again,
had I not learned that precious few could be trusted?

But I had, and counted you among my handful of a hundred,
unaware you had wandered to a ditch, laying a trap of smiles and light,
or had you ever been of the number at all? An imaginary number now,
the square root of negative one’s heart being broken,
twice the fool for believing that you ever were
what you truly seemed
to be-- a wolf in friend’s guise, a tempter
in the costume of a counselor, an executioner
in the mask of love, but the mask was on me.

On me, and yeah I’ll pick up the tab, as always,
but never forgetting, never forgiving
paying for my mistakes with my time and effort,
almost cashing in on my one true always,
my only faithful flock and shepherd.