Just a poem, about how I feel when I dream of wolves. |
The howl of the wolf draws me, draws me deep into my dreams again. The wolf is waiting, waiting for my touch, with my touch she will awaken, and devour my soul. I go to her, drawn by the sorrow howl, and cry uncryable tears, of sorrow. Sorrow that such a creature is in pain, and knowing I will disappear for her. She calls to me, inviting me to share her life, share it like she will now share mine, She sleeps during daylight hours, and her call is during the moonlight. I go to her, drawn by the sorrowful howl, and cry uncryable tears, of sorrow. Sorrow that such a creature is in pain, and knowing I will disappear for her. I lower my hand above her finely sculptured head, and look her in her eyes, freely giving her my heart, my soul and my body, so that she may run again. I go to her, drawn by the sorrowful howl, and cry uncryable tears, of sorrow. Sorrow that such a creature is in pain, and knowing I will disappear for her. I touch her head, and feel the life ebb from me, I hear the howl that has haunted my dreams, and I hear that it also comes from my lips. Finally we are not alone. She comes into me, belonging and flooding me with instinctive memories. No longer will she be sorrowful, for we are one now. |