wolf senses

the lone wolf in the pack froze
in the chilling year-round winter

keen is his skin to smell the thorns
dodging scratches, shield worn;
yet swords of tongues lash deep,
touching his holy ground of conceit

you can hear his eyes speak tears,
though dry they were and uncried;
and the ears are pricked and alert
for the next sound to watch closely

his nose tastes the warnings bitter
for city guards, paving bloody road.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s