Vultures circling,
sensing the heart
that has broken free
in sweet release
from its bodily captivity.
The heart that now
beats incessantly.
The wolf runs on worn feet,
place to place.
Never finding home,
just born to roam.
His work is not yet done.
He hears the universal song.
A sound only audible to him,
for most are deafened
by the soul dulling hum.
He hears the moon singing her hymn.
Keep going, you are needed.
Don't bleed out. Don't fear,
your story doesn't end here.
The wolf barks a reply
and strides faster into the night.
In this late hour, the tree blanket
feels like an evil tower,
blocking out the light,
but his eyes still see,
He still senses the beings
creeping through these
concrete trees.
The dirt under his feet,
solid, not that usual mushy
feeling between his paws.
The smells, the scents, too intense.
Evil lurks somewhere near these wild moors.
His fur stands on end.
His eyes dart left to right,
knowing the tracks have led him
deep into the city of night.
He is here. Somewhere deprived.
Somewhere in this place.
The wolf senses the smell in the air.
Old tattered wool fibres,
he can discern the scent
of the wooden tool of sound
he hears playing underneath
the screams and stomping of
the unearthly demons running out.
He is here,
of that there is no doubt.
The wolf looks to the moon,
a silhouette man
brimmed hat
and long worn coat,
stands haloed by the bright light.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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