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All of the sheep, walk, skip, and frolic merrily forward. Alongside fellow companions
Your neighbor, ones kin, and ones colleges. Passively flowing downstream
Base 10. A number. Of no tactile measure. Yet growing, multiplying. Binary fission.
Are we all not but identical? We desperately vie for security amongst the crowd.
Belong. Do we? In society, an outcast is a failure. The black sheep, never belongs.
To and from one to another, we feed from seemingly ourselves. A reverberation of personality.
Us, we, him, they. Culture ricochets from sheep like paddles. Off to another follower.
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