Two wolves
Unrelated to any forest
Found their respite
In a wondering soul
One ate only when hungry
The other hunted even when full
Yet they slept touching their tails
With their face, at sunrise
Two wolves
Made the welcoming soul
Their forest
Without wondering why
One listened to the echo
Deep into the scorched forest
That once was a soul
Where poetry had its own corner
The other hunted every line
Every stanza
Of any poem left
And made the echo vaster
.. And in the shade of a final word
Two wolves, curled at sunrise
Touching their tails
For comfort
July 11, 2017
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017
Inspired by a Cherokee story about each human
harboring two wolves in them. One kind, one not. The wisdom of it is that the
wolf that survives is the one we feed.
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