It’s all contagious: silence, madness, faith,
The grim stillness of a soul gone cold!
When a god appears amidst the ignorance,
The rest gather around his feet to hold
A hand, a finger, a mere skirting of his robe,
Whatever little their hands can claim.
From “he doesn’t belong”, to “he’s one of us”,
All the way down to “we’re all the same”,
The flock gathers and marches behind him.
The sheep know not where else to go;
Those amongst them have vanished before,
Into this place nobody seems to know.
One bleats, when its mind has a question;
The god’s voice quells his, as he recites
A chant: “All sheep must follow the savior”,
To repeat and try to calm their insides.
And thus, silence, and madness, and faith
Then turn into the song of that flock.
The darkness feels not as frightening now,
When the countless, in a unison, walk.
Then the god disappears; still their hearts
Remain serene like Moon on still water.
Eyes closed, the chant louder, the flocks
Go quietly marching to the slaughter.
Well written