Made Of Wool

All throughout the endless ages
men have sought with fervor deep
to assuage with isms of every ilk
their bruised and injured consciences.
Taking upon themselves the mantle
of prophet, these self-appointed sages
like inspired heralds of the wind
seek to rescue the lost and wayward sheep.
These shepherds of worldly wisdom
attempt to corral the mass of mothers’ milk.

While in clothing made of wool
these wolves of ravenous appetite
bark their rubbish and ram their bile
upon the dwellers of ancient earth.
And the ants of the busy and comatose hill
wanting their neighbor’s tree and their tummy’s full
cast themselves upon the pyre
of the shepherd’s glowing light.
Crying “bread and circuses” in plebeian fashion
the wolf answers with a sardonic smile.

Then from the depths of liberty sought
a strange and kindred idea arises.
It percolates like wisdom not of man
and whets the yearning for breath clean and clear.
Then the conflict rages like thunder and rain,
the war is waged and the fight is fought.
The goodness of one is the bane of the other
yet which shall claim the victory prizes?
Aye there’s the rub, ‘tis for you to say
which is dissonance and which fits the plan.