...this night, another night, some night, at dusk when the wolves gather as they always do <br />...and join the circle stealthily, familiar with the oness of those in the ring <br /> <br />...and the leader calls my soul in wordless dialogue <br />...again to take up position as his shadow, to give him presense with substace in the moonlight <br /> <br />...I will take up the call, secumb with bared teeth and salvia glistering chin <br />....to run with the wolves, scavenging hunters in the frost as come the moon <br /> <br />...often I desert the pack in the darkness of early darkest part the night, when the Leader sleeps <br />...and I sniff the imprints, all remaining, the place once a man sat mortal in a circle <br /> <br />...a howl reverberates accross the infinity of seas of lost souls <br />...as my soul remembers a hunger for love and too belong, a miniscle moment once present and close <br /> <br />...this night, another night, some night, at dusk when the wolves gather as they always do <br />...will I resist the temptation to cross away from the shearing blade pruning the rose<br /><br />Johan Fourie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/5-peace-and-release/
