Day 20: Lamb to Slaughter

In a dungeon underground,

with damp walls and bars

and strangers resigned to

our dank, painful fate,

I don’t ask questions.

I sit where I can’t see

out of the windows.

This must all be needed,

since someone decrees it so.


An old man with a white beard

comes into the cell,

and I think he must know best,

even as he prepares his tools

to slice, dice, tear the heart from my chest.

I lay on his blood-stained slab.


Disappointment runs hot from my eyes.

I’m smarter than this.

I’m worth more that this.

But those self-assured voices know best.

And I’ve been cold and scared for so long.


Will I trade in the unknown

for a scrap of mundane certainty?

Even one as hopeless

and dark as a dungeon.




P.S. If you like, check out my Etsy store and support The Humane League!


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