THE NAKED DOG AND THE TRAPPED LAMB
They’re living in a blurry breach between the wall of a neglected shelter and a crumbling house. The Dog left his last meal untouched, the Lamb walked away with nothing filled his mind. Escaped, vanished, nowhere to be found. But, what’s the matter with it? A blade might slash their tongue from a plead of unwanted being which shall never demand. Aren’t they supposed to be devoted and surrender? Death was the one whom they would be faithful for, his owner will remain unchanged without mourning, longing, nor grieving and his mother will seek over the better one with thicker, whiter, softer shearling. How would they live in a shadow of hurting hands? They have never been awaken, napping inside a bleeding permanent guilt. The Dog will bite everything. Dreary fallen dream—forgotten! Dumped! Awaken in deserted East! And the Lamb would knit a blanket to make them disappear. Too many sins being roped around his marred skin, decaying through a tight clinch of God’s willing. Blood on a whitebone fur but dogs put hatred on their leash, “He is rotten!” they said, naively.
They’re living in a blurry breach between the wall of a neglected shelter and a crumbling house. The Dog left his last meal untouched, the Lamb walked away with nothing filled his mind. Escaped, vanished, nowhere to be found. But, what’s the matter with it? A blade might slash their tongue from a plead of unwanted being which shall never demand. Aren’t they supposed to be devoted and surrender? Death was the one whom they would be faithful for, his owner will remain unchanged without mourning, longing, nor grieving and his mother will seek over the better one with thicker, whiter, softer shearling. How would they live in a shadow of hurting hands? They have never been awaken, napping inside a bleeding permanent guilt. The Dog will bite everything. Dreary fallen dream—forgotten! Dumped! Awaken in deserted East! And the Lamb would knit a blanket to make them disappear. Too many sins being roped around his marred skin, decaying through a tight clinch of God’s willing. Blood on a whitebone fur but dogs put hatred on their leash, “He is rotten!” they said, naively.