by Dakota McLane
One mind, one motion, one mentality.
We come and go in woolen waves,
warm and safe and familiar.
Never daring to look beyond the herd.
But when the brave few glance at other fields,
the dogs come to bite at our heels.
They push the brave back to conformity,
barking orders from their master
who thrives on uniformity,
feasting on it like a pig.
Without us, he is powerless,
so even the smallest revolution
comes with consequences:
left to wander on our own
or ripped to shreds by the dogs.
No mercy for one step out of line.
Those outside look on with distaste,
calling us stupid, mindless servants.
But what they don’t understand
is that we have no choice.
There is no gate to this pasture,
Only sky-high fences.