the wolf devours the sun
night after night
we hear his howls
as it burns his mouth
throat and belly
eating through that thick black fur.
yet
his hands are so long and neat
his talons so beautifully shaped
and that scalded mouth
makes such lovely shapes
that I cannot help but forgive him
(and sometimes
I think I prefer the night after all)
perhaps it is only
my lingering wish
to become worthy of the dawn.
Community Member
,,,'worthy of the dawn' (I repeat slowly and then say) This is yet another stunning poem from your mysterious mind. The metaphors dance before me as a story as a warning as a wish, but the spark which created this, is an uncertainty.