If you’ve spent enough time reading this blog, you know that my mind is often walking the paths of other worlds. Writing helps me visit those worlds. For me, writing is ritualistic. It must be done.
Here’s a short piece that took me elsewhere last night.
What’s the wolf in your life? And, shall you slay it or it you?
The wolf alone can touch this cold,
this night, this dark – its only home.
I’ve heard its song, its hollow cry
that cracks a hero’s sword and bone.
With eyes that catch the moon’s bleak fire
and scrape the heart of man and beast,
the wolf shall bare its silver fang
and on our fears its soul shall feast.