Ode to the Wolf

~for Damian, my best friend~

Society reflects nature; an ecosystem of personalities coexisting differently with one another.

They are ever growing and changing, bending like the branches of trees- trees like

Oak trees who follow the latest trends of the seasons, evergreens that stand tall and strong,

Unwavering against winter’s biting insults, cherry blossoms that impress everyone with their

Beauty for a short while before breaking down and showing their ugly intentions, and

Peach trees who offer up their sweet efforts to any they see fit to give them to, but

Are left painfully bare when the fruits of their kindness are dashed to the ground and left to rot.

The peaches are picked at by skittering squirrels who only focus on self-survival, hiding from the

Hawks that swoop down to purposely show off their toned wings and beat their pristine feathers

To look good enough for the tanned and groomed puma to eat.

Butterflies that flutter their remarkable wings too quietly for anyone to hear for fear that they

Might be too loud and attract unwanted attention from beady eyes,

Low beady eyes like that of the hostile honey badger who kill birds for fun, yet the magpie

Still insists on picking at the carnage left behind despite their unhealthy relationship.

Yet there is one creature that cannot be bested,

No matter how hard the others may try

To beat him down and push him to drown,

To sever his ties and blind his eyes,

To scar his hide and break his pride,

But it never works, you see

Because the wolf has always been king of the forest leaves.

He runs through the trees like a stormy breeze, bringing power during the eye of his

Hurricane and fading to a cool and collected glance over his cold shoulder to the

Ones who had done him wrong and are sentenced to lie in their holes,

Banned in the shade of his silence after realizing that rabbits were not worth chasing over deer.

When craving the solitude of a lone wolf, he strides toward taking a quiet midnight trail,

Choosing to reflect on the extraordinary new moon over the basic and chilly porcelain

Moon, relishing in it’s full confidence and truth rather than a half empty, half hidden surface.

But sometimes he also falls back into the comfort of his pack after enduring a draining run

From hot-headed lumbering bears or snakes lower than the weeds. And that is okay.

They protect each other no matter the loss of the hunt, the long tiring sprints from danger that Make you howl to the moon at night when sorrow is high as that bright disk in the sky,

Because his pack is there for him even when tears flow like a swollen river after the initial storm.

But after every heavy rain reflects a rainbow, letting everyone know something

Beautiful can come out of a soul so young and worn, yet so special and unique.