The Ram

You tell me to pick and choose from my hands
Which one I would save, the goats or the lambs?
Like science are the goats for they do not know
What gives life, yet understand how things grow.
Yet theologies are blood of the lamb,
For they know truths beyond the damned disgrace
Which science has become, the perversion
Of it's conscience, undone by a mere lie.
Yet for a lie are you willing they die
In the fires of hell which do draw nigh
Upon our position? Nay, if I tie
Upon this earth my strengths to but one thing
I shall rue the talents that I have, bring
Sorrow to my house and woe to my name;
So I shall as long as I draw my breath,
Labor for both lambs and goats bereft of
What they need. For both need loves glove, firm hands;
When both are combined shall we in peace stand.
Yet long in coming shall that great day be,
For when all's said and done, then the sea great
As it is shall become greater still, a
Tempest reign down fire and brimstone; hate
Shall then be revealed and love shall escape.
Thus now I choose to take both of them still,
For I am not the judge, and will labor till
The end of all time; when there will be none
Left to hear my rhymes. In glory when done
Shall all I have saved sit; both lambs and goats
That still have a wit to return by boat.
Now I say to you, choose one or the other,
Stay here or live with me as my brother.
So now are our choices made clear for us,
As winter and snow, turn to spring they must.

                                                                   The Ram, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2012