The sheep gather upon the hillside bleating
for their shepherd. Lost lambs, tangled in bramble,
cry for their mothers. Ewes bawl for their young.  
The shepherd, alone, wanders without his flock
calling to them to come to him. 

A circle of the lost, unconnected, without
beginning or end revolves around the
hopeless, leaving a void of contentment,
consuming life and spilling its bones
upon the unfertile soil. Wailing goes on
into the long empty night without stars.

And, the blind man plays in the sand
sculpting what he cannot see. And, the mute
scream from within their minds. And, the deaf
hear it all, see it all, tell it all with their hands.
Myteries of chaotic thought taught and bought
by the innocent lambs without a shepherd.

The shepherd without his flock, cries out,
falls upon his staff, and sheds his blood
as he lays his life down in the green pastures
along the still waters that run red. Sacrifice
comes with thorns and spears and will. His will
be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Then, the end is the beginning. Death is life.
The blind see. The mute speak. The deaf hear.
The lost are found. The shepherd calls. The
sheep listen and the lambs are united with
their mothers. The circle is connected. And,
the void is filled with love as the stars shine.

Kathy Lockhart
1/3/07