Apr 2014
' I woke.
I slept.
I dreamt of nothing.
Stars littered the sky as I rose.
The moon poised it’s deep, sorrow face.
Over the valleys a hungry wolf howled melancholy with the sad moon.
“Why are we so alone, in a world of encumberance?” The wolf asked of the moon.
The moon just wallowed, and did not speak, the moon never did.
The wolf languished near the stream, cautiously perking up at the sounds coming from the dark wood behind.
Hope was far from the wolf’s weighted mind. His life had been filled with loneliness. Raised from birth by the Earth alone, none other called him as their own. He hunted alone, he ate alone, he slept alone, and he was doomed to die alone as all others.
Deep in the dark wood, a pack of ferocity lingered in the shadows, prowling on the lone wolf.
The black horror claimed this land as his own, and he allowed no trespassers. His pack was equally relentless, and they would spill the blood of all who opposed this challenge.
The wolf continued to howl, prickles of black fur sprang up on his neck as the scent of a foe approached.
The pack moved in on him, six snarling snouts, and twelve yellow eyes gleamed at him.
They were hungry.
We’re all hungry.
We’re all starving.
The moon watched unflinchingly, as the water ran red past the bellowing frogs, chirping crickets, the oaks branches that sunk low into the river, casting swaying shadows from the heavy moon.
He watched with his same sad face, how can anything constantly watching us ever have another emotion? The wolf lay, mangled and torn. The others attacked him in a contempt savagery, hunger tearing at their shallow bellies.
Spasms of fleeting feeling went through the wolf, the whites and greys of his once illecebrous and divine fur, now soaked with his own blood. His tongue lolled out of his snout, and his teeth were all shattered.
He hadn’t put up a fight.
The pack shredded him. The black wolf treated all outside wolves as threats. He had no interest of letting a stray wolf get into his pack and challenge his authority. So he killed, before he was challenged. It seemed ideal to him, and his pack was fed joyously. They licked their chops, grinned like a hyena, and barked laughter all at another, while the great black wolf, looked to the moon, and howled heinously in it’s direction.
The dark moon watches from above
So sad at what he must see
The good sun wished with him
To disperse light over the seas
They wept and cried
laughed; and died
The light was put in place
Dark doesn’t surrender to grace
I slept.
I dreamt of nothing.
Stars littered the sky as I rose.
The moon poised it’s deep, sorrow face.
Over the valleys a hungry wolf howled melancholy with the sad moon.
“Why are we so alone, in a world of encumberance?” The wolf asked of the moon.
The moon just wallowed, and did not speak, the moon never did.
The wolf languished near the stream, cautiously perking up at the sounds coming from the dark wood behind.
Hope was far from the wolf’s weighted mind. His life had been filled with loneliness. Raised from birth by the Earth alone, none other called him as their own. He hunted alone, he ate alone, he slept alone, and he was doomed to die alone as all others.
Deep in the dark wood, a pack of ferocity lingered in the shadows, prowling on the lone wolf.
The black horror claimed this land as his own, and he allowed no trespassers. His pack was equally relentless, and they would spill the blood of all who opposed this challenge.
The wolf continued to howl, prickles of black fur sprang up on his neck as the scent of a foe approached.
The pack moved in on him, six snarling snouts, and twelve yellow eyes gleamed at him.
They were hungry.
We’re all hungry.
We’re all starving.
The moon watched unflinchingly, as the water ran red past the bellowing frogs, chirping crickets, the oaks branches that sunk low into the river, casting swaying shadows from the heavy moon.
He watched with his same sad face, how can anything constantly watching us ever have another emotion? The wolf lay, mangled and torn. The others attacked him in a contempt savagery, hunger tearing at their shallow bellies.
Spasms of fleeting feeling went through the wolf, the whites and greys of his once illecebrous and divine fur, now soaked with his own blood. His tongue lolled out of his snout, and his teeth were all shattered.
He hadn’t put up a fight.
The pack shredded him. The black wolf treated all outside wolves as threats. He had no interest of letting a stray wolf get into his pack and challenge his authority. So he killed, before he was challenged. It seemed ideal to him, and his pack was fed joyously. They licked their chops, grinned like a hyena, and barked laughter all at another, while the great black wolf, looked to the moon, and howled heinously in it’s direction.
The dark moon watches from above
So sad at what he must see
The good sun wished with him
To disperse light over the seas
They wept and cried
laughed; and died
The light was put in place
Dark doesn’t surrender to grace
It's unconventional, and what started as a short story seems more of a poem to me, however you may decide.
