Wolfsbeat

In a dark wood I saw the heart of me
Fleeing into shadow like some gray wolf
Glowering at prey long lost and aloof
Flares rage with kindling animosity

The beast bared out fangs shining and silver
It lashed out at bark and clamped down on smoke
Grasping at phantoms it would not revoke
With growls and howls that cannot deliver

And when tired and weak it gasped and died
But in its last stillness I only sighed

I never wanted this to be my infatuation. I wanted to build the world with my bare hands, sculpt monuments to reality with the sheer might of my determination and once I accomplished an utter effacement of my weaker and less disciplined self via the mastery of my creations I could redefine the way to world sees itself. First, I wanted to build cities and worlds with new and unique methods designed by a keen mind and youthful glee, then chemicals and the ideal of immortality swarmed my thoughts until such a time passed where I thought the only way to save the world was to isolate it in some distilled serum or genetic recombination so that humanity could surpass its limitations and fragility in the scope of a decaying world and way of life. Then, I grew up. I was a failure with mathematics and couldn’t bare to face up to any business or marketing practice in my life so I chose words instead. I was always great with words, from the swift explanation of things that made more sense then they actually held to the overwhelming nature at which I could describe something I truly knew. Each day was a challenge to push my mind further into the darker parts of humanity and morality so I could create metaphor and hyperbole as a means to reshape the world by exposing the smallest and largest flaws of the conscious person to themselves and others, paving a way to whittle out the chaff of poor moral fiber from society as a whole. This failed of course when I gave into the darker elements of my own twisted urge to delve deeper into such thoughts, so much that it cost me the respect of my family, many of the friendships I’ve had throughout the years and above all else my capacity to make a convincing argument for the morality I once sought so desperately to preserve. It occurs to me now that I can work backwards to relieve the pain and pressure I have inflicted upon myself and, by proxy of that self-flagellation, the same and if not greater pain I have pushed on others as a result. I need to take alms and arms to restore my mind, then my body and finally my spirit, or dedication if you will, by letting my words speak higher than dark measures of indulgence and sorrowful slights against those I can no longer love without spitting venom in the process. I love words, I love writing and I love seeing how the worst things can sometimes teach us how to be better people. If nothing else, I can change the minds and lives of others by example and by voicing caution.

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