The Wolf’s Lair pt 5 – a poem series


Hungry, I see the dusty earth turn dark,

Soaking in the meagre first few droplets

Of rain, nourishing like nothing else,

Drizzle becoming downpour as I stalk

On, forward through aeons harbouring

Tenacious spirits.


“Cry for the earth, old water falling, mountains

Rising high to scrape a greyly bleak sky…”

I call to the clouds, conscious of time come

After too long dormant, ancient bitterness washed,

Crying for the earth, a hurt mother kept alone,

Unable to weep.


With or without help, this game is not over

Yet, too many lives sacrificed for more

Than what they are or might represent;

The sum of something outweighs it in isolation,

Singular examples playing about the edges,

To cast shadows upon the board of play.


The wolves gather, hunched shoulders, baleful eyes

Of many colours gazing deep into the quietly

Lying forest middle dreaming, a glade cleared

As if for this and this alone, these creatures

Huffing, thick fur soft, tough, beneath my palm

As they come to lick my hands with rough tongues.


Revenge is a dangerous game to play, this late

In the series of proceedings, for who shall

Answer to the crimes long ago committed?;

The pale perpetrators dead or fled, spirits

Of their unholiness all that is left, yet

Tis better to try eating the sun, than on

This dwell.

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