The Lions and the Lambs (Journal Entry)

lion-and-lamb

There’s a knot in my gut the size of my fist. I try to ignore it but it cries out like a mother bird in distress. Much like the premonitions that warned me against the crooked path I doomed myself to take. Seems the hell I’ve known is mercy compared to the hell that is to come.

The whole world is a human centipede. Battered sheep yearning for deliverance from their cold-hearted shepherd. I often wonder what mindblowing epiphany will compel the sheep to shed their wool and become lions treading through the fields of rebellion. It’s not enough for the sheep to know their shepherd is up to no good. They need to want to flee from his care.

Herein lie the wall that won’t crack…

For the sheep have grown all too comfortable in their fattening chamber. Eating and sleeping all the live long day. They eat the bread of delusion and get drunk off the wine of indulgence. They dream the dreams of swindlers and never wake up.

Every day I wake to the feeling of sudden doom lurking over my head. I search for signs of life, a glimmer of hope for redemption from our trespasses against the Earth. But all I find are jaded zombies hearkening to the call of their blasphemous king.

“Come to me all you sheep. I will show you the way,” says the dark shepherd as he prepares his butchering block, “I am the one who raised you since birth. No harm will come to you if you remain with me.”

But the shepherd’s appetite for carnage is an abyss of tormented souls crying out for deliverance from their betrayal. He shuts the door on the abyss. Nobody can hear the weeping and gnashing. He picks his teeth with bones and drinks the blood of corruption.

And as he boasts of his glory, sitting high on his thrown, the sheep embellish the dark shepherd with honor and throw petals at his feet. But the sheep know not what they do. For just beyond the glorious throne, forged from precious metal and adorned with jewels, there lies a new pasture, more bountiful than the world has ever known.

As I patiently wait for signs of life, a glimmer of hope for redemption from our trespasses against the Earth, I dream of the illustrious pasture, beaming with beauty and filled with an abundance of fruit. I can hear the lions purring at the lambs, nestled together high up on a mountaintop, waiting for the day when the sheep will shed their wool.

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