Monday, November 16, 2015

The Call to my own

The frozen snow glistens
As the moon rises
All the children beasts
Come out
From their lairs
They dance
They shout
So loudly I can't hear
My own kin above the din
So many out there, so few listen
I call to the ones I call my pack
But with the noise
Drowning my call
I try to let them follow
By the beats of my heart
There is a rhythm
And a trust
I know each
By their gaze
Their breath
Upon my neck
And their gait
And soon
We've gathered
As our pack
We begin the hunt
Like it was our last
For the old days are gone
And the man races prosper
And we dwindle fast

“We have doomed the wolf not for what it is, but for what we
deliberately and mistakenly perceive it to be –the mythologized epitome
of a savage ruthless killer – which is, in reality, no more than a
reflected image of ourself.”  Farley Mowat

“And this is what happened, and this is why the caribou and the wolf are
one; for the caribou feeds the wolf, but it is the wolf that keeps the
caribou strong.”  Farley Mowat  Never Cry Wolf