This short poem was in my head when I woke one night. I have since only changed one word and wrote it out in a single, quick pass. Strange how something like that can happen. Hardly great poetry, mind you!


There. Just there. In the distance.
There is a wolf calling. I think it is a wolf.
Some long distant compatriot, trying to awaken me.
I fear it has been too long. I seldom feel the cold.
Generations led to this, to unquestioned obeisance.
I am trapped in a cage, numbed.
Desensitised. Native Americans, it is said, used alcohol.
Humbling the ancient inside, shutting it in,
Drowning out the wolves trying to awaken us all.

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