Thanks to Sarah of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting #SaturdayMix. Her theme today is Personification.
Credit: Action Vance via Unsplash.
They told me it was easy — that a wolf was born to run,
Never once did they talk about innocence, a scattering of light shunned.
When all the darkness mustered, and drove forth as Roman armies.
They told me I had to do it, but my frail hands shook.
My eyes peeped through my lashes, venom running through my veins.
For no one told me about the spilling,
The loss of life and gore; men now faceless, missing limbs.
Life left them in a quickening, and I peeked through the brambles;
Thorns stabbed into my paws, the moon haunted by shadows as if it too, hid.
I wandered around the copse, limbs prickling and tongue mute.
An anthemyst sky drew forth night, a small end to battle; and to camp for today they returned.
No side was bad, no side was good; each believed their god gave glory;
But I was pup who lay on crumpled leaves, moaning in the blood-scented air.
I was but an observer and the scenes were obtrusive; never failed to numb me.
They overcame my sleep, no place for pups as down to sleep.
And in the night I heard them weep, beg for life and help;
For moms to hold them close, for lovers to sing one more note.
And the night was a cacophony, until death silenced some;
And others fell into fevered sleep.
Yet, the crimson morning came with an ominous bells knell; I failed to close my eyes all night.
The clashing of metal, the tangy smoke of guns,
Invaded my nightmares as the half-dead lay silent, if only to live through one more day.
And a tiny wolf crept forth, and through the carnage lunged.
She lengthened each foot and grew tall, silvery fur huge snow-white teeth clasped, titanium claws split bone.
And she knew in the end all had been lost, but she was born to run — to hunt;
She was the goddess of war, and hers was a warrior’s life or death to give.
It never mattered that through each year,
She was still a babe crying in the darkness numb, half-dead after battle.
Half-dead of heart to survive such gore; so, she let loose her demons,
And the fates chose the victors, if there ever are any?
She knew too well as cherub tears fell, nothing was just or fair in war — suffering was the only assurance.
Suffering and the fairy-man’s boat rowing, as if he had all time,
All the time in the world, because he did; and she howled as the dusk once again swept.
She lay down in the copse, a wolf pup again; goddess of war without a pack.
Lady whose job was to perpetually morn, to pick and choose, and forever feel the pain.
Knife and gun, nightmares and terrors, for peace was an infinity — the only dream she had.
©️Mandibelle16. (2019) All Rights Reserved.