starting from the beginning,

            the renewal of cycle—

No memories, no knowledge, no learned behaviors

            O fresh blade of grass kissed by the sun

has not experienced the seasons—has

no idea of what is to come

 

O blind sheep they may be,

            Running from a domesticated canine—Petrified

fear is the illusion, only a state of mind

            there you are, black sheep—the sore thumb within

the herd, What makes you different? The hue of your wool?

The odd behavior you display? Or is it your ability to see past

            the lie

 

what mind filled with wonders—O infinite light

            seeing past the stars

the galaxies, the universe. The consciousness forever—

            expanding, experiencing itself through you

 

O black sheep, seeing is knowing but once you know—

            Unknowing is impossible

O you have yet to experience the seasons knowing—

            Seeing is believing