The Herd

Shuffle, groan speaks.

Misplaced logic runs;

restless, tired feet.

Herded to the line,

marker lies in wait.

Grapple long for,

other chosen fate.

Unique, no home;

reason for stay.

Follow for reward,

hand given,

by slay.

Herd is the lead,

master of device.

Trapped by flock,

routine,

takes its slice.

©Brett Kristian 2018