The rebel

Each sentient has a mind
To do with how they feel
To be one of the masses
The herd, or to be real
Each is an individual
With their own thoughts
And needs
So why are so many followers
For truly where that leads
Is a dumbing down a conformity
Acquiescing all the while
Consistent and conventional
Just a button on their dial

Where have all the rebels gone
The free spirited brigade
The ones who play by their own rules
Irrespective of whether they are paid
No one wants to be alone
That is very true
But sometimes we must sacrifice
And knowingly imbue
Ourselves with inspiration
From Nature from the whole
To just be independent
Of the propaganda role

One such sentient earthling
Was a black wolf who had found
Conforming brought its problems
Just a pattern on the ground
Defiant of bis parents
Unmalleable lets say
He wanted to do his own thing
To please himself and say
The Bohemian life is more my style
As I go on my way

His demeanour was of ebony
Each hair the stroke of night
The emblem of creation
Where everything felt right
Piercing eyes all seeing
And musculature to match
A picture of masculinity
The pick of the batch

Always learned the hard way
Nothing on his plate
He had to go and search for it
His oneness was his fate
Rootless in so many ways
A wanderer in fact
In the company of silence
Is why he did react

Packs of wolves all over
Claiming territory
But he would remain a solitary figure
Always wild and free
Roaming in the shadows
Howling in the night
Stealing through the hedgerows
In his own bright light
His newness of each moment
Was clearly in plain sight

Dawn heralded his waking hours
And Dusk demanded rest
Clearly he ran the gauntlet
His experience would test
Convention every which way
The unseasonable divide
A chameleon of virtue
That bolstered up bis pride

What was to be his destiny
Ordained or otherwise
Suggestive and inspiring
Provoking the surprise
Of other apex predators
Who he might amble near
And feel their teeth a moment
Somewhere near his ear

The power trip never his domain
His compass wasn’t to be
Followed he ran with the wind
Prevailing constantly
Bison were great brute forms
A single wolf would be
Crushed and broken by a charge
All their capacity
And great weight around them
So Black Wolf had to be
Restrained in what he chose to eat
For such a solitary

Cuts his cloth to standard
And generates his role
Interprets his initiative
And proves he is that soul
Small mammals maybe salmon
If they are rising with the stream
He will go and catch them
Re living his dream

He will venture closer to the humans
On their road
Taking care to listen out
For those trucks whose heavy load
Can cause wild souls great panic
So many die this way
But clearly its an artery
Through neighbourhoods lets say

And in his howling overtures
The females might respond
And come to him for pleasures
And possibly have a bond
An affection for the moment
A traveller lets say
Who with his independence
Can love and walk away