and it’s in the garden, field, paddock
on the dinner table
your tee shirt
that painting
but in the painting it’s dead and its mother is screaming
and i now wonder if she screams like a human
but at the time i just wondered what it felt like to scream
to be a dead lamb in the dark
frank lee
Well this is strange. I am being asked by this random site to write about a lamb for one minute. My Pep owned a lamb. Actually multiple lambs. Sheering them on those warm spring days. Until one Christmas a plate of meat was put in front of me. And i ate the lamb.
Kyle St. Jean
He ran a hand through her hair, gently petting the soft tresses. The shaking girl slowly calmed in his arms, the loud sobs fading into soft hiccups. “It’s alright, my little lamb,” he mutters, as a strand of hair falls away in his hands. He doesn’t mention it for fear of upsetting his ill daughter.
overlordy
there was a precious lamb lying—unnoticed. that was until i walked up. i stood and looked around marveling at the impossibility that no one dare stop before me. the lamb noticed me there and winked. i didnt know whether to wink back or run. i ran.
“What a precious little lamb you are, child,”
I ducked around the hand that approached my cheeks with a prominent scowl. “Thank you, Lady Damise,” I offered begrudgingly, taking note of my mother’s disapproving frown. How she hated when I wasn’t appropriately polite to her guests or, more importantly, their ‘eligible’ sons.
Speaking of, the soon-to-be Lord Damise was leering at me so fiercely from his mother’s side that, despite the fact I’d already taken one that morning, I already felt the need for a bath.
A sheep. A small cute fluffy creature. We eat them. It’s kind of sad but I do it anyway. I’m not sure why. They seem so innocent.
Hermione
The bible mentions the lamb as a peaceable animal on many occasions. It says that the lamb is one of innocence, something without sin. Why? Why is the lamb so innocent? Is it the white of it? Isn’t that a tad racist? Maybe not. I don’t know. There are black sheep too, you know. Perhaps it is the fact that the lamb is weak (physically)? Although I suppose a ram isn’t so much.
Nathan
IM soft as precious aas and sweet as one
Some sheep become so ashamed theyll hide from the herd and die of starvation
I used to starve myself of contact
SHAME
The lamb goes to slaughter with its brothers astride.
The lamb lived in the cottage. She was not, of course, biologically speaking anyway, a lamb. But it made no difference to her or anyone else. Every day at three o’ clock she went outside to smell the grass.
The lamb was in the field. It was not alone, but that was hardly important. Clouds in the air and in the field.
Elizabeth
There he was. I saw him and everything seemed clear. All the thoses events were unfolding in front of me, I finally got it. It was a lamb to the slaughter. And I was the lamb.
Macha
Lamb—lamb of god. What else would it be? Lamb schwarma? Sacrificial lamb? Super calif-r-lambi-alidocious. I genuinely have nothing to say about lambs. Is this supposed to be some kind of trigger metaphor? What?
Granted, you don’t have my whole attention. State farm and pizza commercials over Friends re-runs.
Ben
Lamb, soft sweet innocent little creature. Bottle fed and raised for fur, to be thread, and a fluffy sweater worn by her caretaker and sister by association and wool.
The lion laying with the lamb as a sign of peace seems awfully silly to me. To my mind, it is more important that we realize the value of the lamb and realize we need not be a lion anymore, that the lamb may be our friend if not his.
Eric
soft fur, soothing baa. A baby animal you just want to befriend. I may not be Mary but a lamb would be nice. I would take it with me to school and get the lamb to bite people in the ass for a good laugh.
The lamb was sent to the cold, dirty pen. The young dauphin was locked away in the great stone tower, and he had no hopes of coming out again. The only remaining heir to the french thrown was awaiting his execution.
She wakes with bright eyes, and gently blinks the sleep away. Her limbs unfold as she stands up, teetering at first, but then finding her footing amidst the rocky dirt. The sun’s rays fall through the cracks in the ceiling as the little lamb’s mother raises her head; checking on her baby. She lowers her head when she sees the little one gently push the creaking wooden door open with her nose. She knows what time it is. It’s the little lamb’s time to play in the morning light, singing with the chorale of birds, breathing in the fresh awakening of the day as she leaps across the blossoming field and the sparkling dew soars, weightlessly to the sky with each small step of the lamb.
marry had a little one but it ate with some tzasiki sauce and watermelon. It was an off track restaurant, across the center from Kathineon in Athens, Greece. Mary laughed and ate the lamb with her favorite company in the world.
Danaek
I ignored the lamb of God when he wanted to get to know me. I wanted some time to myself. That time to myself was not fun like I wanted it to be. It was self destructive and painful.
sturmzie
Mary sat down, put her elbows to her knees and began to weep. This is what growing up is all about, her father told her. Saying good-bye, doing what is best for business. They’re just animals after all, nothing to get attached about. For hours she cried. Not just for the loss of her pet, but for the loss of something else. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. After the tears had passed, she looked up onto a nearby framed photograph and held it close. Mary had a little lamb. Had.
lamb of god you take away the sins of the world have mercy on us
lamb of god you take away the sins of the world have mercy on us
lamb of god you take away the sins of the world have mercy on us
have mercy
have mercy
on us
Tia
the little lamb cried that day and every day afterwards for she has lost her mother. Her mother had been slaughtered by a man who ate lambs live and torn apart their limbs one by one. The little lamb was lonely and longed for life and listened to all
Ruth
They are fuzzy, cute, but can be irritating and stinky in given contexts. Also, they tend be be extremely noisy when they want something, not dissimilar to a cat, but considerably louder. Some are white, and some are black, but the black ones tend to be ostracized.
Timothy
He was taking out the lamb dish when there was a sound above him upstairs. He put the dish down and walked to the base of the stairs, and looked up. Darkness. But he still heard the sound resonating through the floorboards. Then he heard the mewling, but couldn’t tell what kind of animal it was. Not a lamb, though.
The follower lost his way. The master lost his lamb. Lost his lamb in the sacrement of blood. The one ritual that was to be the end of both their suffering. The follower had failed his master, had failed and would be punished for eternity and there was nothing he could do to redeem himself this time.
Lillian
My sister had a dream she had a pet lamb that she named “secret” in Arabic. She doesn’t know arabic. I was jealous. I always get jealous when I don’t remember my dreams and others do. It is one thing we don’t have control of, our unconsious.
Mary Donovan
“My pet lamb”, she called me always. With tenderness and love. The softness of her voice shone through those words like I wished shone through eyes of lovers past. Pure.
The little lamb slept in my arms. I stroked its wool. So cute and innocent. I wish i could stay there forever feeling happy and warm with the little thing. Sadly the day would end and id have to go back to the stupid crazy city
the wolf ate the lamb. Or so the story goes, but are we just as predators ourselves for attracting the hunter to our lair? Are we the true killers? Or are we dead meat walking…
The lamb of god was white as purity, love unfolds, love untold, love unveiled, love incomprehensible.
Donia
“Aw wee lamb.” She looked at him and saw how innocent he still was. He had no idea of the evils of the world – the money, the power, the corruption – and she was going to do everything in her power to make sure he stayed that way as long as possible.
The lamb was especially succulent, with just a hint of rosemary, and some mint sauce. The horsemeat, while plentiful, was less popular.
tonykeyesjapan
The whistles.
The time I’m keeping.
Counting the distance with my hands.
Delicate like a lamb, I know the feeling.
I can hear when hearts are bleating.
Rephrased
Surfer as the “lamb” is, slaughter to what mind gives, a thought of everlasting, far but I can grasp it memories current, so shall the death.
oh medium lamb burger. i shiver at the thought of never having you again. i am a heroin addict on his last dime and bag. you addicting piece of crap. i swear i hate you. but ill take another.
They shoved the child into the road. He was barely old enough to be in grade school. The wicked amalgam of pressure treated wood and machine stamped metal in his hands looked obscene. They marched him off to the slaughter.
and it’s in the garden, field, paddock
on the dinner table
your tee shirt
that painting
but in the painting it’s dead and its mother is screaming
and i now wonder if she screams like a human
but at the time i just wondered what it felt like to scream
to be a dead lamb in the dark
Well this is strange. I am being asked by this random site to write about a lamb for one minute. My Pep owned a lamb. Actually multiple lambs. Sheering them on those warm spring days. Until one Christmas a plate of meat was put in front of me. And i ate the lamb.
He ran a hand through her hair, gently petting the soft tresses. The shaking girl slowly calmed in his arms, the loud sobs fading into soft hiccups. “It’s alright, my little lamb,” he mutters, as a strand of hair falls away in his hands. He doesn’t mention it for fear of upsetting his ill daughter.
there was a precious lamb lying—unnoticed. that was until i walked up. i stood and looked around marveling at the impossibility that no one dare stop before me. the lamb noticed me there and winked. i didnt know whether to wink back or run. i ran.
tiny hands grasping free
you cannot catch hold of me
fluids rising
seizures occurring
no more bending of the arms
the little lamb
heads home
“What a precious little lamb you are, child,”
I ducked around the hand that approached my cheeks with a prominent scowl. “Thank you, Lady Damise,” I offered begrudgingly, taking note of my mother’s disapproving frown. How she hated when I wasn’t appropriately polite to her guests or, more importantly, their ‘eligible’ sons.
Speaking of, the soon-to-be Lord Damise was leering at me so fiercely from his mother’s side that, despite the fact I’d already taken one that morning, I already felt the need for a bath.
A sheep. A small cute fluffy creature. We eat them. It’s kind of sad but I do it anyway. I’m not sure why. They seem so innocent.
The bible mentions the lamb as a peaceable animal on many occasions. It says that the lamb is one of innocence, something without sin. Why? Why is the lamb so innocent? Is it the white of it? Isn’t that a tad racist? Maybe not. I don’t know. There are black sheep too, you know. Perhaps it is the fact that the lamb is weak (physically)? Although I suppose a ram isn’t so much.
IM soft as precious aas and sweet as one
Some sheep become so ashamed theyll hide from the herd and die of starvation
I used to starve myself of contact
SHAME
The lamb goes to slaughter with its brothers astride.
The lamb lived in the cottage. She was not, of course, biologically speaking anyway, a lamb. But it made no difference to her or anyone else. Every day at three o’ clock she went outside to smell the grass.
The lamb was in the field. It was not alone, but that was hardly important. Clouds in the air and in the field.
There he was. I saw him and everything seemed clear. All the thoses events were unfolding in front of me, I finally got it. It was a lamb to the slaughter. And I was the lamb.
Lamb—lamb of god. What else would it be? Lamb schwarma? Sacrificial lamb? Super calif-r-lambi-alidocious. I genuinely have nothing to say about lambs. Is this supposed to be some kind of trigger metaphor? What?
Granted, you don’t have my whole attention. State farm and pizza commercials over Friends re-runs.
Lamb, soft sweet innocent little creature. Bottle fed and raised for fur, to be thread, and a fluffy sweater worn by her caretaker and sister by association and wool.
Mary had a little lamb. It grew into a big sheep. And wasn’t as cute anymore. Mary had a big sheep. The End.
The lion laying with the lamb as a sign of peace seems awfully silly to me. To my mind, it is more important that we realize the value of the lamb and realize we need not be a lion anymore, that the lamb may be our friend if not his.
soft fur, soothing baa. A baby animal you just want to befriend. I may not be Mary but a lamb would be nice. I would take it with me to school and get the lamb to bite people in the ass for a good laugh.
Soft. White. Young. New. Baby. Helpless. Possibilities.
A life in our hands.
The lamb was sent to the cold, dirty pen. The young dauphin was locked away in the great stone tower, and he had no hopes of coming out again. The only remaining heir to the french thrown was awaiting his execution.
She wakes with bright eyes, and gently blinks the sleep away. Her limbs unfold as she stands up, teetering at first, but then finding her footing amidst the rocky dirt. The sun’s rays fall through the cracks in the ceiling as the little lamb’s mother raises her head; checking on her baby. She lowers her head when she sees the little one gently push the creaking wooden door open with her nose. She knows what time it is. It’s the little lamb’s time to play in the morning light, singing with the chorale of birds, breathing in the fresh awakening of the day as she leaps across the blossoming field and the sparkling dew soars, weightlessly to the sky with each small step of the lamb.
marry had a little one but it ate with some tzasiki sauce and watermelon. It was an off track restaurant, across the center from Kathineon in Athens, Greece. Mary laughed and ate the lamb with her favorite company in the world.
I ignored the lamb of God when he wanted to get to know me. I wanted some time to myself. That time to myself was not fun like I wanted it to be. It was self destructive and painful.
Mary sat down, put her elbows to her knees and began to weep. This is what growing up is all about, her father told her. Saying good-bye, doing what is best for business. They’re just animals after all, nothing to get attached about. For hours she cried. Not just for the loss of her pet, but for the loss of something else. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. After the tears had passed, she looked up onto a nearby framed photograph and held it close. Mary had a little lamb. Had.
lamb of god you take away the sins of the world have mercy on us
lamb of god you take away the sins of the world have mercy on us
lamb of god you take away the sins of the world have mercy on us
have mercy
have mercy
on us
the little lamb cried that day and every day afterwards for she has lost her mother. Her mother had been slaughtered by a man who ate lambs live and torn apart their limbs one by one. The little lamb was lonely and longed for life and listened to all
They are fuzzy, cute, but can be irritating and stinky in given contexts. Also, they tend be be extremely noisy when they want something, not dissimilar to a cat, but considerably louder. Some are white, and some are black, but the black ones tend to be ostracized.
He was taking out the lamb dish when there was a sound above him upstairs. He put the dish down and walked to the base of the stairs, and looked up. Darkness. But he still heard the sound resonating through the floorboards. Then he heard the mewling, but couldn’t tell what kind of animal it was. Not a lamb, though.
The follower lost his way. The master lost his lamb. Lost his lamb in the sacrement of blood. The one ritual that was to be the end of both their suffering. The follower had failed his master, had failed and would be punished for eternity and there was nothing he could do to redeem himself this time.
My sister had a dream she had a pet lamb that she named “secret” in Arabic. She doesn’t know arabic. I was jealous. I always get jealous when I don’t remember my dreams and others do. It is one thing we don’t have control of, our unconsious.
“My pet lamb”, she called me always. With tenderness and love. The softness of her voice shone through those words like I wished shone through eyes of lovers past. Pure.
The little lamb slept in my arms. I stroked its wool. So cute and innocent. I wish i could stay there forever feeling happy and warm with the little thing. Sadly the day would end and id have to go back to the stupid crazy city
the wolf ate the lamb. Or so the story goes, but are we just as predators ourselves for attracting the hunter to our lair? Are we the true killers? Or are we dead meat walking…
The lamb of god was white as purity, love unfolds, love untold, love unveiled, love incomprehensible.
“Aw wee lamb.” She looked at him and saw how innocent he still was. He had no idea of the evils of the world – the money, the power, the corruption – and she was going to do everything in her power to make sure he stayed that way as long as possible.
The lamb was especially succulent, with just a hint of rosemary, and some mint sauce. The horsemeat, while plentiful, was less popular.
The whistles.
The time I’m keeping.
Counting the distance with my hands.
Delicate like a lamb, I know the feeling.
I can hear when hearts are bleating.
Surfer as the “lamb” is, slaughter to what mind gives, a thought of everlasting, far but I can grasp it memories current, so shall the death.
oh medium lamb burger. i shiver at the thought of never having you again. i am a heroin addict on his last dime and bag. you addicting piece of crap. i swear i hate you. but ill take another.
They shoved the child into the road. He was barely old enough to be in grade school. The wicked amalgam of pressure treated wood and machine stamped metal in his hands looked obscene. They marched him off to the slaughter.
Baby, Animal, Sheep, Food, Sacred, Religion, Christianity,