Wolf
A lonely shadow is lingering on the stark
wilderness.
The sun disappears at the horizon burning
final light.
Bitter wind cut through his face,
arousing the latent rage.
Running wildly as a king under the looming
stars,
His last consciousness is devoured by
desire.
Red is the cruelty between black and white.
He gobbles up the poor fellows lost in the
chill,
aggressively, ruthlessly.
He gallops, constantly assaulting,
Perishing in the darkness.
Until,
The orient surrenders the first light.
The burning sunshine ignites his gloomy,
weak eyes.
He will never retrospect the bloody
memories he just created.
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