The casualties of the poor innocents they lopsidedly criticize…
The mostly “ well-meaning “ –
sometimes peacefully seeming—
often
idealistic—pessimistic…
Where were these flocking sheep
on the streets
in this fight
for civilians—who were cruelly slaughtered,
and sacrificed…?
The stock of Little Bopeep
were silent and meek—
nary a peep—
are these the promises, and ethics these keep…?
Were they then asleep…?!
Did they selectively care
for the suffering there…?
The sheep now throng—
their sly shepherds, and shy sheepdogs
are wrong…
Impaired is their sight—
they delight to be herded—day, or night…
While they do have this right—
they also very well might
have lost their way—one could say—
and any independent reason, and
sound insight…
A scapegoat these sorry sheep need—
in bright green, idyllic, idealistic pastures they
pine—design—are irrationally resigned
to feed…
Indeed—such an impressionistic breed—
they allowed
their own wool
to be pulled
over their eyes…
But, one must surely
realize—
no surprise—
it is our country these
sheep despise.
