Superstition

Red sky fills the morning.
Waiting on the shepherds warning.
Omen for this new day.
Could do with it sliding away.
To leave misfortune at the door.
Don’t want to suffer the madness no more.
Yet crop failure is his decree.
Hence why many villagers want him cut free.
Loose him upon the open road.
Have others cursed him for his words owed.

One night screams fill the night air.
They are choked with fearful despair.
I race across toward the shack.
The one in which shepherd and flock stack.
Arriving I learn I am the last.
Upon the ground a body is slashed.
Encricled by butchered remains.
They are the sheep that he retained.
And shepherd is dead with staring eyes.
The villagers are letting out such happy cries.

Burial was a bland kind of affair.
No one but me wanted to be there.
Faces couldn’t even attempt no smile.
All my neighbours show they’re vile.
And when its over they forget his name.
But at least they will not be denied grain.
The care they placed high up the list,
Is why the shepherd will not be missed.
His warnings were seen as a curse.
Ending that innocent life was so much worse.

Times comes for the harvest.
Everything is dust and tarnished.
Not a speck of food can be saved.
Karma has decided winter must be braved,
Devoid of enough for every mouth.
Circumstance has plummeted south.
But now the villagers realise they are the cause.
If only they had given a moments pause.
Starvation will be all that fills stomachs.
All because they acted like a bunch of foolish lummox.

By the time winter passes only I remain.
Everyone else picked the wrong side in the game.
For that they paid with their souls.
Bodies lying static in splayed pose.
With all said and done I decided to move on.
If I remained survival would be gone.
Death would be my final stage.
I’m not committed to accept that sort of cage.
Yet before I leave I find the notes.
All my neighbours played a part it quotes.