There’s mornings when the lamb walks by
His coat torn, worn, matted and black
I hate him for the sadness in his eyes

The lamb sat still through the storm
A faith, a patience, with Embrace and gracious
Though ravaged, his loving was tender and warm

He was meek and foolish, leaving his wool for their feet
Forgiving their coldness, their indifference, their scheming, their deceit

How could he be so passive, how could he allow such treachery? They’d laugh at his tears and bathe in his stretching means.

I don’t envy the lamb, I pity him, even regard him with contempt. My enemies are the ones he loves despite my resent.

The lamb walks by not asking though he needs. The lamb walks by not showing though we see.

His back is slashed by their claws, they gash deeper with each pull, standing in circle of wolves he closes those sad eyes and endures.

I don’t want to be the lamb, for the lamb has ceased fighting. I don’t want to see the lamb for he offers a quiet reminding.

Remember who are, remember through your heart, that surrendering is not stopping, that surrendering is only the start.

I hate the lamb because I love him so dearly. I want to break the lamb because I’m not above him, not even nearly.

I am the lamb. I am the embrace. I am the lamb. It’s my tender heart that I hate.