Be Afraid Of The Wolf
The words of the poet
Written with intelligence and love
Are words understood by few.
Stanzas and couplets
Are hidden, meaning to be mined
From carved stone by determined minds.
Read in comfort of secured lives.
In the cold night
The lone wolf howls.
The angry calls are no words of truth
But raw emotion
Felt by the lonely hordes.
The anger call
Reaches more ears
Gathering to the vain cause,
From empty churches, the aging remains,
Roaming the rural lanes, hunting the minority.
They are frenzied,
They smell the blood to blame.
Readers of fine words will say
That there is nothing to fear,
Wolves do not live in our land.
But it is the empty howls that cause
Native blood to enrage
And words of the poet die without meaning.
Only when the words are spoken out loud,
Believed and enacted
Can the howls of the opportunist be drowned.
– Ciaran Burke