Lone wolf wanders.
wolf bounds over buried bones and old cobbled stone roads
dancing in the crooked – moonlit – shaded places.
Lonely he grows – only knowing strangers,
ever wearily seeing fear draw nearer
escaping distant – but still fear becomes larger – becomes clearer.
Wolf racing—chasing his tail,
circling a trail of repeated mistakes and failure;
scars ripped deep he refrains from displays of sneers and pain,
a mask, a wolf,
noble and ravenous,
purposefully cantering along the winter landscape.
The architecture of a cruel nature,
a danger to behold
he wanders wild,
hungry for silence,
a hunger never quenched.
The chase begins unhindered;
wolf becomes his shadow,
a darkness only visible in light.
The perfect hiding place,
hidden unto – and within plain sight.
Kevin Phillips is an emerging Leeds minimalist writer. His short fiction and poetry tend to be highly emotional. Dark and dreary themes and tones run through the veins of his work.
In his own words, “I want to be the reason you check under your bed at night.” Exploring death, loss, and loneliness, he machete`s his way deep into the jungles of the human experience.