Hunt LampA Poem by JGHunt Lamp
I have fallen so many times And bloodied my knees. I went to bed with the sunset And wished for Kristine to roll over from her side and give me a goodnight kiss. But that is a foolish thought; she warms another man’s bed. I waked for the howling wolves; they had stolen my dreams again— Often I have dreamt of a rabbit neck breaking in my jaw. And the run —yelping joy for the jump of a log. Now I’m part of the pack and hardwired to my bloodline. And like any Spartan will say: there is no trying only obeying. The big silver is at the front and on the scent. We are on the move hunting deer. The moon is our scythe; it’s in our blood to harvest life and renew it in our veins. Luna, our hunting lamp, closes the ancient circuit: bay, bay, bay— In my early memories our lamp is waxing full; it tells a story: I have fallen, been ensnared, yet again into some trapper’s iron crucifixion; I howl as there is nothing left to me but my sores. This God must want us to be frail And I’m humble to his desires, as I wonder why he makes me fail. But tonight the hunting-light through the pines flashes on my pupil: howl, howl, howl— My wounds and I will howl with the wolves.
© 2008 JGFeatured Review
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Added on November 10, 2008Last Updated on November 10, 2008 |