The Howler

There is blood
dripping, dripping
off snow white paws,
ice perfection,
caeser beauty.

You howl, dark, blood stained muzzle
piercing the air
the cold, cold broken air
that shatters soul and
thought and prose.

Your hackles raised your amber sockets
your fire-light eyes
dancing, grinning, lolling jaws
gasping
Lungs shattering-frozen glass.

You are a blizzard,
tearing across the
frozen tundra
confidence in essence,
you alone- the world your
enemy, your
arena, your solace.

You are cold, an ice sculpture-
somehow melting, but ever slow
you howl again,
for luck.

by Alice Miller

Other poems of MILLER (6)

Comments (1)

Wonderfully chilling and vibrant imagery. HG: -) xx