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golden eyes. translucent globes of amber

pierce the darkness of the forest.

dark bristling fur.

black as night sprinkled with a fine dusting of powder.

white.



padding softly. silent as the passing of an owl

wind sighing, the gantle rustling of a pine bough the wolf moves.

forward.

the smell of musk heavy.

his ears.

alert.

listening.

waiting



he raises his cold wet noseto the stars.

sniffing for what is or not is there.

shaking.

he scatters flakes of snow sestled on his coat.

reveling in the cold, crisp, winter air



watching , ever watching the passge pf night.

soul yearning for his kind, those left behind.

he lifts his head, puffs of frost from his breath.

howling, pain, hate, rage at man-caused death.

COMMENTS

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GrimmySoul
18:30 Dec 26 2010

This is quite lovely. I fancy this one alot. I love the way you glorify by taking the time to put the small details in

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POST COMMENT

the spirit of the wolf seeks freedom.

padding on feet torn and scraped from his run.

far into the forest he roams.

the scent of pinereaches his nostrils,

drawing him towards the cool darkness, home.





here there are no men, no hunters

who would shoot him down with their guns.

drop of life, slowly dripping down.

he looks for peace in the whispering wind.



he raises his nose, his ears drawn back.

hackles raised he waits. tail raised. listening.

gold eyes pierce the night. seeking the unknown.

a sudden howl pierces the dark, a welcome sound.

calling him to a place of rest. a place now found.



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