Creation and Consequence

no desc.

Your greatest victory

is my blood.

I- the victor.

Liberation in a show of death,

scores from canine tooth in the jaw

of a skull, aging gracefully

in a poisoned funeral rain.

The cold.

I've been a part of it.

Wolf, banned from these woods

when she denied the father,

following now a chemical trail-

the scent of a suicide.

The death chokes her,

and she finds herself growing weaker.

She leaves the pages pressed under

many pages.

Don't,

the wolf growls, racing for the roses,

running to guard her grave,

red-tipped thorns the tears of Aist.

The soul sleeps and wakes,

reunited with the wraith

of a story-time faith.

It sees things, through wild eyes,

the wolf is alive.

The soul of a good animal.

Your greatest regret

is your birth.

And I- the victor.

Author's Note

If I write your story,
will you leave me forever? I'd once asked her, hopeful. I never finished her story, but she left me..
Can one guess that the afterlife is directly proportional to the individual's imagination?
But what is one idea?
Is it right to say that I am nothing but my imagination?

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The story was good. Perfect story don't mean perfect love.
"the wolf is alive.
The soul of a good animal."
A interesting tale. I wanted to read more. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote