A Collection of Poems

050: Hunting

For this, I imagine snow, heavy snow, while I'm carrying a shotgun, waiting for a wolf to come, when many thoughts come across my mind, thoughts that send me longing for home and failing my mission in order to finsh it.

L

HUNTING

The skies are filled with moon-kissed light

On one of all, the darkest night

To trap the wolf-dog, quiet and quick

Till snows and sounds are out of sight

The lodge is cradled two months far

Siberian whispers wage to war

To skim the woodlands for a glimpse

Some flash and fire-frosted star

The lake is shimm'ring in the cold

And trees are grayed and blacked in bold

And patience in the bow must serve

A shot to make a mission told

The coat is chilling through my skin

And pale and blue is on my chin

But what do words make to refuse

A dead man's treasure sought to win?

The breeze is steady as a dream

Of warmth and comfort that may seem

Like seven shades of silver grass

And seven folds of aged gleam

The moment calls a certainty

That chances come with levity

And I must do, with all I have

To bend and break adversity

But all is once in reason's cause

Without a halt, a stop, a pause

And when it strikes upon my sense

I shall not grieve upon a loss

And howls of crystal, furs of ice

With tranquil tips thrown over cries

And breaths of silence echoed once

On cadavers that fainted thrice

But what does work make to regain

All dignity in hurt and pain?

Is it a fortress made of glass,

Or such an essence washed in rain?

I did, but still I cannot see

This much of fleshed discrepancy

And such thin blood upon the shores

Of Nile towards the salty sea

But not a sea, nor ocean wide

Can thus express a snowy tide

But all it is in forest deep

And those, the spaces where they hide

So now, I leave it all to face

The blizzards past the empty space

To find the flame so far away

In two decades of bounded place