Greywolf's Wolf Poems



From the Soul of a Wolf

We've seen mountains grow from hills,
and trees grow tall.
We've felt years go on,
only to grow old and fall.
With my brothers and sisters
that's also the same.
You see we've lived many a moon,
but now our time has came.
The two-legs have come in,
and killed all of our prey.
This must be a sign,
that now we must pay.
We're all so confused,
because what have we done?
We don't have an answer,
so soon we'll all be gone.
We'll never again,
see the water freeze.
Our howls will never again,
be carried on the breeze.
I am a wolf,
older than you know,
and all of this,
has come from my soul.
So believe what you want,
and do what you may.
But we need the two-legs help,
if we are to see another day.


The Life of a Wolf

I came into this world
helpless and blind.
I drank mother's milk,
my brothers and sisters alike.
Soon we ventured out,
out of our dark den,
into the big bright world,
where on our family we must depend.
With my siblings I play,
exploring the world around me.
Not caring what's to come,
because my spirit is free.
I learn how to hunt,
by watching the pack.
They bring back dinner,
and will forever watch my back.
I see many generations
of pups go by,
but not once did I think,
that my pack would start to die.
It started out slowly,
then started to get fast.
Pretty soon my pack was gone,
and only I was left.
I'll never know what happened,
I only know they died with a bang.
I hope the bang gets me next,
so I can be with them and sing.


Running Away

The two-legs killed my mother,
my brothers and sisters too,
and now I'm on the run,
I don't know what to do.
Running through the river,
and weaving through the trees.
I feel a sharp pain,
and fall to my knees.
The two-legs has got me.
I'll be with my family soon.
Now the two-legs is over me,
as I get one last look at the moon.


Chasing the Prey

I see the caribou,
straight ahead.
The pack attacks.
Soon it will be dead.
In so many weeks,
we've not killed any prey.
This is a victory.
We'll live to see another day.


Wolf

We see mountains grow from hills,
and trees grow tall.
We feel years go on,
only to grow old and fall.
Our howls echo,
through the tall trees.
They bounce off the mountains,
and are carried on the breeze.
The Native Americans respect us,
regard us as sacred and wise.
They see a piece of themselves,
when they gaze into our eyes.
This all may no longer be,
for our fight has begun.
We wish not to live,
in fear of hunters guns.



More poetry will be coming soon.


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