The wolf sits,
cowering,
shivering, scared.
Air stained with memories,
fears coated in yesterday's furs.
Since he started to walk alone
the pathways have twisted,
taken turns
in directions unknown,
and now he feels
even more alone.
in this ever decreasing
forest of closing trees.
He can barely breath.
Roots tangled around roots
trying to get a grip
on torn padded paws.
Expectations rained
then sunk into the mud just as quick.
Fur matted with blood,
skin clinging to his bones.
The wolf howled.
sorrowful sounds,
but only the trees
and air so misty
could hear his
yelped misery.
The moon - his guide,
still glides silently across his eyes at night
but now the years
have made his vision less bright.
Tears have blurred
his sight into a bleary mess.
Should he have just followed the pack?
No. The wolf thinks.
A glimmer of life in teary eyes still sits.
I have to walk my own path,
the crowd doesn't have my back
and I know the story needs me.
It needs me to find
where I'm supposed to be.
Thanks for reading
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