David Smalling | + Follow Poet |
Narrative | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

Wolf- Man, the Middle

Day crackles clean and warm like burning coal
A new passion swam his veins, they bonded him
For that pheromone was strong in him, and abrim 
The pack bayed towards the sunlight burning gold
And welcomed a brave brother wolf into the fold
For he who before the bear stood calm, his noble
Suit displayed, found his totem in a moment bold
And transmigrated his soul to the new realm possible.

He could not make destiny again, but destiny chose
For him, the wolf man everywhere was known. He 
Was the hero wanted, yet scorned with circles closed
Like doors against him, for all his deeds of mercy.
But the dog gene made him a man's best friend still
And howling he brings the pack always to his will
Neither did they sit while any child or innocent ached
With fear or pain, and from the malice of evil intent.
The wolf man knew but little thought how each act
Propelled him to a higher level and another death sent
For seeds all die that spring to trees, and the same fact
Was true for him every new level he was to attain
While propelled upwards greater animals to become
He knew the bear level awaited him next in the chain
Of cycles. But for service alone his heart still hummed.

Nor did he know hes was hunted too, for one man firm
In his conviction to repay, the thing that from forest came
The thing massive in muscles, humble in every term
That dared the forking tongue of a livid flame
To retrieve a child, the only child the mother left behind
The child that was enblem and memory of that love
Whose death would perish his flesh and torment his mind
The wolf-like thing, the man beast on wings, dove
In from above, and came out with life between his jaws
Hair fried, and limping as if with injured paws
And the throng of them that rush upon the scene then
Making a barrier between it and curious but cruel men
And how it seemed in thin air he vanished without reward
And cause a grateful father to follow the trail full and hard.

Did he have the hours to find him still, to meet the kind
That make us wretched because our hearts are blind
Did he with ego melted, and with a different disposition
Qualify to know and taste the foreign truth of transmigration
To destinies on the brink of fate, and death at the gate
Gasping and gulping, still in the grasp of time we wait.

Please Login to post a comment