Hunger dripping
from the wolf's
snarled grin.
Ice in his belly.
Stabbing.
Painfully thin.
Scraggy fur
matted, worn bare
but he won't give in.
He has a place out there.
Fire roaring just out of view.
Hard to see.
Sparks slowly burning through,
clouded eyes cover the flames
but that fog will disintegrate,
dissipate into the wispy air,
when he finds his place
and lights his fire there.
The wolf alone for now.
Alone for so long, but never bowed,
never cowered,
he just doesn't fit in
with these particular crowds.
For they see not
the joy inside,
nor his playful side,
they see quiet,
so, they push him aside.
Not part of the pack,
he is not like us they bark.
He acts like a sheep,
swims alone like a shark.
That lust for life,
is in every painful stride.
His pride sits
in knowing the journey
has been difficult, but that he
will never again hide.
It's in his loving nature,
his mournful howls.
The way he sings
to the moon on quiet nights.
Just so she knows
that she is not alone.
For wherever her light lands
The wolf will roam.
Thanks for reading
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