I believed him a sheep, because I felt the fleece,
But the wolf was always there.
I never felt the sharpness of his teeth,
So his secret hadn’t cost me a care.
I told the shepherds there was no danger,
I defended my fold fellow well,
Any suspicions I met with anger.
Now my complicity brings me hell.
As for all to see, the lambs lie slaughtered.
Rank smells from the corpses arise.
Crows and maggots begin to gather,
To consume what is left behind.
But what of the wolf, removed from pasture?
Has he remorse at this grisly scene?
Does he even know how his crime with outlast us,
All of us, who must live with what’s been?
more by VK LYNNE
photograph by Cam Adams