The Hypocrite
I am an owl.
I gaze upon the cool forest night
and alight
upon a lowly branch.
My eyes
luminescent in the darkness
are guiding lights along the deer-trodden paths.
I am wise, omniscient.
A priest peers out into the congregation, surveying the wooden pews for the next distraught wife who will unburden her prurient shame by a peck of lipstick upon his neck in the nocturne hours of confessional.
My wings spread wide
My feathers flutter.
I pounce my prey
and sleep with another.
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