Wolves of the Circle

I woulden't recommend the salad . . .

 
  There was a man, born to the land,

who tilled the earth, with a heavy hand,

till thought he, “I long to be free.”

and so that man, he crossed the sea.

 

There he swore, on that foreign shore,

to serve his lords, and ladies no more.

As he stood, Green eyes in the wood -

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

Our hero then, he took an ax,

and filled the air with heavy cracks.

All around, up came the town.

As word got round’ -

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

He sang a challenge to the wild.

Twas the noble savage,

In every child.

 

“I am king, king of this rock.

Deer and Bison, my livestock!

Red man with, the feathered head,

fear my god, or I’ll make you dead!”

 

He found a wife and soon got wed,

to a fine, young lass, who made his bed.

Fields of grain, grew by the mile,

and all the while -

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

He went out one night, to slay a ram,

but someone stole, his feast of lamb.

Growling softly from the wood -

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

He vowed to tame, both beast and tree,

for in his mind, only one, should be free.

As time on wore,

he began to see,

the scratch marks on his door.

 

In God’s own name, he vowed on Sunday,

“I’ll purge these woods, of their wolves by Monday!”

 

but the years, went racing by,

and in despair, he began to cry.

Wild eyes,

so fierce and wise,

 

They watched him.

They watched him.

 

Then the scratch marks, on his face.

his tired heart, began to race,

and limping he, began to hide,

behind the strong sons of his bride.

 

They sent for a doctor, who did place,

him in a locked room, wet cloth on his face.

 

“Your father he, will never survive,

a day out of doors, so keep him inside.

So there we have our hero now,

at the feet of every hen and cow,

that stocked his table in the past.

The hammer is ready he will be the last.

 

but wait,

weeks roll by, and it seems of late,

the land lord, will escape his fate,

for in the woods, his foe’s stand freezin’,

hunting has been poor this season.

Yet still, with fading hopes, they scratch,

at the windows weathered thatch,

with haggard, cold, and hungry eyes -

 

They watch him

They watch him.

 

His daughters keep the shutters tight,

to beat back the cold winds, that blow in the night,

but without the clean air, smoke fills the cabin,

dead air from the fire, blankets his lungs.

He dreams of the wild, the wild he hated,

a force he abated,

but secretly loved.

 

Quickly a gale, rattles the gutters,

rips through the shutters,

as in peers a family, fierce as his own.

On this day having cornered their prey,

we find them weak, and unable to leap,

through one Low window.

 

They cry in despair,

their cubs have collapsed

they must leave them there.

 

With one last breath they turn -

To watch him.

To watch him.

 

Then a whisper, by his ear,

“In trying to escape your fear,

you’ve found a truth far worse,

lie forever in bed, or escape the curse.

 

Strength I give you, one last chance,

a single breath, for a single dance.

leave the sterile treeless hell.”

 

In this hour of fate, all fences fell.

He saw the buzzards souring high,

heard the crys of their chicks,

for something to die,

saw flies born of the recent dead,

stocking a fresh filled spider web.

 

Thus the circle did he see,

an endless feast,

for all.

 

Without a thought,

outside he walked,

and sang up to the sky.

“If I must live on sterile sheets

then with you my friend I’ll die!”

 

Upon him they fell,

and he gave a yell,

as everything he’d done,

was purged from his mind

in equal kind,

as man and beast were one.

 

As his flesh was torn free,

fat pups he did see,

as strange beings carried him off.

 

We are sorry to say,

in that world he wont stay,

to this day he roams in the wood.

Off goes an owl,

at the sound of his howl,

when all the pack is at hand,

‘round a solid,

granite grey wolf,

a wolf with eyes of a man.

 

They watch him.

They watch him.

 

 

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14 thoughts on “Wolves of the Circle

  1. munchow says:

    That is quite a tale of man and beast, written with so much understanding and beauty. And the picture is really beautiful in an almost scary way. Wonderful post.

    • rastelly says:

      Thank you. I was worried it would
      be too long, or too wierd for the
      general audience, for me it has
      many possible interpretations.
      A reader may discover more.
      Glad you liked my drawing,
      your’s was just the impression
      I was going far.

  2. Amazing and epic! The tale drew me in and kept me on my toes!

  3. rastelly says:

    Thanks for reading – and writing.
    Love reading your poem and hearing
    about your holiday treasures. :D

  4. “saw flies born of the recent dead,

    stocking a fresh filler spider web.”

    You paint even the common elements with a magnificent stroke. Lovely work, my friend!

  5. rastelly says:

    Thanks for loveing the
    very lines I thought would
    kill this poem. Sometimes
    I think I go too far.

    P.S. filler is filled.
    I made a mistake.

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