This image came to me in a dream. There was more to it, but I can't remember what it was, so this will have to do for now.
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Bright white sheep,
graze lazily,
on pale white grasses,
Set against a pearl white horizon.

Upon their fleeces,
black scribbles dance.
Symbols that guide them,
Markings that define them.

Their blurred eyes fixated,
on the ground that feeds the illusion.
They are unaware,
of what surrounds them.

One,  just for a moment,
looked up and protested.
Tonight we eat his flesh,
and mangle his fleece.

The powerful scribbles,
upon his coat, that could lead
the herd, to greener pastures,
Is tossed aside and spat upon.

In coming times,
one such as he
will graze amongst us.
And like days of old,
His fleece we will tan.

Perhaps one symbol,
will raise their heads.
To pierce the light,
And see that, it is God's hand.