Lost In Fog Poem by David Wood

At night in the pitch black
The stars shine, and the onion
Moon's light makes eyes glow.

In the cold light of day they stand
And look. Their winter's fleece
Is a very warm coat.

They don't know about heaven,
They don't understand economics
Either. They have one purpose.

They are lambs for the slaughter.
To feed those who are not hungry.
They end their short lives in utmost fear.

Their counterparts are the same,
Their eyes glow, but for power. They
Wear winter coats too, and hats.

Only it's us, the people they fleece.
In the cold light of day they lie,
Though not on the ground.

Their's is a different lie. They lie
Because they don't know what
They are doing, inexperienced

In statesmanship. They are not
Lambs to the slaughter, we are.
They cover lies with even more lies.

They say sacrificed lambs won't
Go to heaven, they say no animal
Does, but these counterparts will.

Always lusting for power and fame,
Taking ill-gotten donations to keep
That power with naked impunity.

Their green fields are hard concrete:
But, they are just dismasted boats at sea,
That ship that has long lost its rudder.

Like sheep they limp along month in month
Out while leading us all by the nose. They
Act like sheep lost in fog, and we all suffer.