And The Wolves Hissed

This is just something I wanted to write and it took me a while to find the words and meaning.

Oceans shrink and earth shudders, creeping by the rain smothers,

The sound of the mournful taunting, echo’s become more daunting,

Sitting on his throne of bones, he listens to his public’s groans.

Defeated honour and wounded pride, never able to provide.


Blue eyes flicker open, gazing out onto the broken,

This is how it’s always been, no more do those fierce eyes gleam,

Sitting on his throne of skulls, he looks up at those he once called gulls,

They look down on him now and laugh; no longer does he unleash his wrath.


No bite or bark to fight back, no threat from that lonely pack,

Possessions and friendships are easily sold, gone for just that bit of gold,

Sitting on his throne of leaves, waiting while his pack deceives,

Ripping and tearing at his fur, left vulnerable and entirely bare.


The moon glares down while full in form, the wolfs howl now forlorn,

Hands outstretched and grasping what’s left, that beating heart now bereft,

Sitting on his throne of concrete, transformation now complete,

How far are wolves from you? From me? How far are wolves from humanity?


The End

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