Whose the beast could it be you it may not be him you know

The so called beast
within the wolf is
its spirit of the wild
the warrior that runs the plains
the cold one, the wild child
embittered by the age of man
who understands so little
of the forest and our way of life
and why the leaves are brittle

he knows not of the seasons
for he lives inside, and he
learns to hate
to dissipate
that basic energy
we use running and hunting for our prey
no supermarket no
whatever we must eat each day
we have to catch

we grow
in size of course
our knowledge base is vast
our instinct’s there
ancestral knowledge is passed down
its what and how we share
The university of life
its out here, next to our
goddess in the forest
and she just does empower

Hunter man and Rancher Man
and Government man
its sad
you think more of your pockets
which on the whole is bad
I mean thats only paper
derived in fact from trees
better live amongst them
then process them and wheeze
a lot of you the oxygen
was once so crisp and clean
and now its sick and vile in most parts
our bodies too are lean

and yours are fat and lumpy
hunt you just fire guns
bullets fly and yes we die
daughters sisters son’s
this bullets smashes families
destroys our pack and, we
grieve, we grieve incessantly
really, unwaveringly

For aeons we have rarely been
at people’s beck and call
some have loved us like you do
some no not at all
but when they hear our howling song
curling through the night
a haunting shudder runs right up their spine
and it can bite
like the wind that cutting wind
that bleaches bones to white
courage and commitment
the beast comes into sight
inside their heads they see us
our howl breaks through the night
it skirts the rocks and the mountain tops
and trips them up in flight