And Then The Wolves Came by Keiron Tonge

Pale tears running down the windshield glass,
White sands slipping through the hands of a child.
Time itself running away, turning its back.
Time that seems at first to flow but is primal and wild.

Rage filling the eyes, visions of red, sweet brutality.
To feel the sweeping motion of the blade through the sky.
Clashes and battle cries heard on the blood torn plain
A time for life itself to be spilled and for men to die.

Battle proves to have no victory save the wolves.
Seeing them smile in the morning as they pick from the kills.
Hidden laughter from voiceless lips they feast.
Thoughts like this never pass through the farm hands mind as he tills.

The same field once stained with blood now a source of life.
Everything around him growing, wholesome, abundant beginning.
As the children pass the fence and the reaper collects the grain.
All around there’s smiling, even from the parson who watched the people sinning.

Cries of joy and relief as the rain made the harvest plentiful.
Those that lived under the straw thatches fed well that winter until the wolves came.
Always there watching, eyes glowing coal bright.
And every time always smiling, just like before life remains the same.

The wolves fed well that day as the men reaped and sowed in the meadow.
Tasting the meat of young and old, a village of ghosts left behind.
No sweeter taste on the lips of the brutal.
For an animal after all there is no redeeming light to find.

The city, bustling, noxious fumes and dust fill the sky.
A vision of a future, of a now, that nobody dared dream of.
This was a new kind of forest, dangerous from its own predators.
No space among the buildings save for the people, no room to fly for the dove.

Busy people, bus cars and the traffic is always atrocious.
The city was a place where everyone was miserable and drab.
That was until the wolves came.
And they passed across the cab.

Nature stood no chance,
Where there stands no tree.
No place to hunt and dance,
No place for the wolves to be.

“Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration”
Frank Herbert

Embrace the past and future and make of it what you will…

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