A.J. Bland-Fears

(Little Rock, AR, USA)

The Bleating Of The Lambs - Poem by A.J. Bland-Fears

The slaughterhouse poses motionlessly white and erect
Where her weary hands cleaned the mirrors there
as they shamelessly did reflect,
The woefulness, yet the blessedness of her weekly chore
Knowing that dust, grime, and wrinkles would open a door. Even now, the old log cabin boldly spills out its daily news.
Forgiving and forgetting, she rendered it its dues;
While its presses rolled, she arose early to enter
its master's household,
Her sleep-deprived spirit would free yet another soul. In this proud, new era, specklings of those westside,
majestic altars yet stand,
But through enlightened, renewed eyes are no longer viewed as grand.
On their sweat-stained altars, fewer sacrificial lambs are laid;
Ironically, from their offerings were our brighter futures made.

Comments about The Bleating Of The Lambs by A.J. Bland-Fears

  • (4/25/2007 4:06:00 AM)

    taht is a very great thinking of yours. you are really blessed with imagination and true use of words. i really enjoyed very much.
    please read my poems at www.poemhunter.com/ravi-chandran
    i will be very greatful if you comment me
    \thank u keep it up.
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Read poems about / on: sleep, mirror

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 2, 2003

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