The watcher of the skies.

The flag that
flew before me
was the colours
of the rainbow.
The light you shine
was nothing
but the sun
and the shadow
I cast
was no more
the eclipse of
my making.
I am your moon
you pack of wolves.
Howl before me!

Reviews

[barleygirl]

These days it seems like every group is waving a flag, announcing or denouncing colors, throwing shade or maybe blinding light, you name it. With so much heralding, everyone else's way of seeing things shoved in our faces, one must hold fast, as in the ending of your poem, secure & confident in the howl you choose to heed (((HUGS)) Fondly, Margie

[andrew mitchell]

lol thanks for the entertainment to my scribbles.

[Ted Kniffen]

Hauntingly familiar Andrew. When I was a lad, living for a time in Quebec, a pack of wolves often visited our cottage and would fight to get at the venison my father had hanging in the rafters of the porch. We would see the odd one moving through the woods while we played outside and we'd listen to their howls in the evening.

A good write my friend.
Stay well ... be safe

[andrew mitchell]

Hi Ted what a fascinating story. I have travelled through Quebec, beautiful country in 1984. Thanks for reading my friend. Stay safe-too.