Cry Wolf
Cry Wolf
Searchingly,
I peered into your sky painted eyes
without fully understanding what I might find,
but finding that which I might never fully understand.
And now,
My heart is adrift,
like flotsam ,hopelessly adrift.
And the wind that blows is cold,
and the wind that blows is heartless.
And it is governed by circumstance and prejudice,
and fear and scorn and anger and regret and guilt.
And yet more fear, more scorn, more and more of all
that we are not.
But alas, as sheep we must follow that dark shepherd,
though in truth he be but the piper and we be but mice.
We can see the sun setting beyond the jagged headland.
We can smell the sharp scent of the seas.
We can feel its’ cold, cutting spray on our faces.
We can feel the ghastly chill crawling up towards us.
All these things we know, yet still we follow
like sheep and mice.
But Oh, were I but a Wolf.
Then gladly would I hold you as my Moon!
More beautiful than the stars.
Brighter than the sun when the sky is day,
but only to me that gladly shuns the sun.
Oh to be as the wolf, you my Moon,
Smiling, taunting, mocking me,
Unreachable, untouchable, unapproachable,
But There! There and always there for me to sing to
To rage to, to cry, to howl, to weep to and to sing to, there, there,
There; mine though not mine but there for me.
But in truth I am as the Wolf,
And my world is now a heartless Tundra.
I that must thread over ices chill,
through vast open meadows that end only in sky,
ending where they first began, leading me nowhere.
Threading over vast empty spaces yet going nowhere,
For I am a searching soul,
I am a Wolf,
Searching for a moon that no longer shines,
But rather stands painted in a sky tainted by the sallow
Glow of her own dim indifference.
Like the liar’s moon she sits
guarded behind the ethereal shawl
Of her self spawned convictions.
Safe, safe in the false notion of numbness.
Safe in a sanctuary of rosebud expectancy.
Awaiting only the rising of the Sun,
Hoping that with the Sun, she may relieve herself of the sky,
So that the searching Beast might search for her no more,
yet not realizing that only by searching,
might He find himself,
And only by gracing the darkness of his heavens,
may She, the Moon know the true joy of full purpose.
For it is purpose which nourishes the human soul.
It is the mead of the spirit, like soil to the seed,
sunlight and rain to the sapling oak
that must needs grow to the heavens.
For what is love other then a fullness of purpose?
The will to surrender all for but a smile,
A willingness to waste away knowing
That the reward shall be but a sparkle
In a beloved eye.
I am a Wolf.
You are my Moon, and forever shall it be so.
But I will not lay claim to love,
for that I have done before though rashly.
Foolishly and perhaps too eagerly,
When as yet too young, too little knowing of
That which too little understanding,
I was too little in giving, giving too little,
If little more then none at all.
Bur this I can say, and shall say, as must say
with full conviction. With an open mind,
A clear heart and a soul all for you to,
hold, to heal and if you will to scorn!
I am a Wolf,
And you hold within yourself
The fullness of my purpose.
In you I am completely complete,
So completely dazzled by you as to
Stand in complete wonder of you,
A smile on my face, a tear in my heart,
A river in my soul, though around me be only
the cold, barren mountains.
Above me,
Only the starless sky,
Within me,
But a longing for the Moon.
Carlos
31/08/01
Copyright © Carlos Debattista | Year Posted 2013
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