Surviving

Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

04 01 National Poetry Month, Howling Wolves April 2, 2017

Welcome one and all to the 2017 National Poetry Month.

With these last two years, I have submitted a poem a day to this blog, and hopefully, this year will be year number 3. Time will tell, right? grinhave

This surely is a gloriously musical month, for poetry surely is the music of the soul.

I would like to add the following poem to my daily submissions, in hopes that all who love poetry gather in their chances to indulge a line or two of this form of writing that has always been a moving passion of mine.

Although this poem is a little dark to kick off the month, it acted similar to many writings of mine, in that it jumped out onto the screen with merely a few touches of the keys.

And again, the goat rambles on.

Happy late April 1st to one and all, and here we go again.

Howling Wolves

A beggar’s meal is all that’s asked.
A morsel, a crumb, a sliver of hope.
Questions that lie scattered in the shallows live on, unanswered.
Fingernails continue to carve their weary script along a furrowed brow.

Pray tell where the tips of broken shoes wander.
Hollowed out hints lend nothing to the curious heart.
A pictured work of art, but for one lost stroke of the brush.
Gather in the hours, only to wish away the day.

Weathered fingers clutch at the void.
Tattered wool beats back the howling wolves of winter.
Pangs of empty hunger cut deep with unfeeling fate.
One misplaced story,
Never to be heard,
Never to be felt,
Never to be forgotten.

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