Wolf Song (for Cindy)

My first poem, edited.


My wild wolf howls to the silver moon;
Life is but a breath from heated lungs
Expired in vapour swirls, over the pale white snow.

So many prayers once prayed, are now forgotten;
For sickly leaves in heaven, they fall too,
Before their colours, in a season gone, return home.

Hoary throats cut through the clean thin air,
Year after year, pain after pain;
For our love of song is to sing, even when unheard.

© shywolf 2020
Views: 1840
critique and comments welcome.
Subscribe
Notify of
8 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Stormwolf

Hi Bro, I think this would be better laid out in shorter lines for more effect. If not, at least the last lines. You want to leave the deepest impression as the reader leaves the poem so to me breaking up the final line has more oomph. see below ‘For our love of song is to sing, even when unheard.’ You may not agree. 😉 The first line is a bit predicatable 🙁 but as a first poem, it shows your heart and passion for deep feeling and philosophy, so it’s well done. ‘For sickly leaves in heaven, they fall… Read more »

Shackleton

Ah yes. It’s all about the singer and the song. Enjoyed the read.

Sweetwater

Very, very much enjoyed this lovely poem, it really conveys the cold harshness of deep hurt. Stunning images too. Sue 🙂

Jolen

Cher Loup:

I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be reading your fine words again. Yes, some lovely imagery here, but the wording too is choice. Effective and clean, yet powerful and resounding. I do agree that the last line would be a bit more resonant if split in two, but it still works as it is.
You’ve been missed by this old witch,
blessings,
Sweetness

Flag Content