Wolf Hunting

I heard a story once about people up north.

Where there’s long days and long winters

And the snow piles higher than houses.

They hunt wolves in winter,

Finding ways to do it safely.

Horrific and brilliant methods.

Take a knife and dip it in blood

Freeze the blood on the blade,

Do this over and over

Ten times over.

Until the blade is deep beneath a thick coat

A winter coat of deepest red.

Leave it in the open blade pointing up

Saluting the sky

Taking a bow before the grand performance

The great seduction of the beast.

Curiosity can be wonderful,

Curiosity can be devastating.

A hint on the wind

And the scent makes itself at home

Amongst happy memories

Eating dinner with family.

You come out of the trail

Seeing this tower of scarlet

Amidst this ocean of white,

You remember this shade of red.

It wasn’t the first lick that killed you

But it sealed your fate to be sure.

Those that live by the sword die by the sword

Those that thirst for blood drown in their own.

Niceties we say to excuse our guilt,

You never stood a chance against this trap

It looks like food

It smells like food

And it even tastes like food.

Your tongue swarms into every crevice

Made by the swirling vapours

Of your hot breath excited

Panting with desire and hunger.

You lick and lick and lick

And endless fountain of your favourite flavour

You denied yourself nothing.

The blood just kept coming,

First from the frozen blood

Thawed by your warmth,

But then it switched and you didn’t notice.

Did you?

Can’t pinpoint the second but sometime

Your tongue met the steel

Blood now spouting from many sources

And you swear it’s the best day you’ve ever had.

You died in a garden dyed crimson,

By the fleshy brush jutting forth

From your strong jaws

Bathed in your own paint.

I just listened to the story,

Dumbstruck.

I’ve never understood

A wild animal better than now,

I’ve been betrayed

By my longings too.

Curiosity can be wonderful,

Curiosity can be devastating.

– Vagabond Prophet