The Blizzard
October 11, 2011
By: Femi Rene
A snarling wolf, time hungrily devours this life.
You plod on through blank griefs searching for that magic
word, that one word to fill the blankness in your life
some shelter from the bleak blandness of this life, some
inviolable vowel beneath whose boughs to
bear life’s burdens, or some comforting consonance
muttered beneath the breath as beaded words blend between
your freezing fingers, clasped around your mouth for warmth.
And all you want to do is rest a while, to sleep perhaps
But oh! The wolf is coming, coming; there will be
no time for resting, no time for putrid penance.
The wolf is coming canis lupus through the cold
blizzard, unrelenting as he stalks, through pages of
snow leaving his scent in blots of urine and then
howling through the years oh! You must trudge onwards through
the deep dark woods; there will be time enough to sleep.
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