Where Sheep Graze
In the wilds, sheep graze,
on lands untouched and serene,
Where winds meet and hills group,
In valleys or plains where no one stoops.
Despite this, sheep are not free.
Their bounds travel range from coast and cliff,
Pasture or petting zoo,
Fields scarred by past battles or beside highway clamor,
Yet the fence is still coming ever closer into view.
Free yet trapped, ensnared in others opinions and matters,
Staying still only to settle long paid off debts,
The slew of promises turn into deafening chatters.
Wool pieces mark the communal path of false freedom,
The diverting paths die off from isolation.
acceptance of self, breaks the mental farmer’s fence.
The ability to not worry in past or future tense,
To ignore the constant baahs of the disengaged and disillusioned.
An idea to break free always there,
Only to be stomped on by those who care.
True freedom is not be hidden or forgotten,
Neither is a villa or the fresh food you brought in.
Freedom is where the true wild sheep graze,
In your own self body and mind.