angel hearts

a storm cell brews
the liquid blue of sky flows high above 
like a stream in milky clouds
smudged with glowing slate
 
below on helpless earth,
wild winds burst in
like rapists violating the forest trees

the grey white wolf on frozen snow 
stares at the man with the poison dart
aimed at every angel heart
his yellow eyes blaze with fire
his pupils reflect a torment's ire

wiry hair of the beast tussles manically
he takes two steps forward
into the raging wind leaps
stalks the man with the poison darts
aimed at every angel heart
who kills for sport and boasts
and snags his kin's skins on every post

for countless miles he's pursued the course, 
trods the razor edge of icy thorns 
the dried and broken crumbs of human hearts,
on a mission of no remission, 
his commission vindicate his king
his prey, the man beast with the poison darts

he stalks the rant and rage, 
the shout and curse, the fight, 
the scheme to kill peace on earth
since the dawn of time

the wolf stays stalwart strengthened,
undeterred, despite freezing winds
springs on the man with the poison darts
that sudden burst on himself
as the storm slams, drowns his rants
he sinks and melts into the snow
like sweet dorothy's witch

the wolf resumes a vigilant stalk
focused on the time when the ripe of time
on earth when its rife with war
to the appointed time for burst
when little is left of love for peace
his commission, no remission
sent, proclaimed from high

in the secret of the forest den
beneath the dark of blanket night
he transforms resumes his former self
a bright lit shining angel being
brief, then suddenly into
a common man of the wilderness
whose dwelling place is not of earth