The Wolves

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Inspired by an old proverb

Submitted: June 12, 2017

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Submitted: June 11, 2017



I was told once that within each of us there are two wolves fighting for control.

One is white, it is happiness and all that good and it is light.

One is black, it is darkness and all that is evil. it is fear and hatred.


The fight between mine has been one sided for the last few months

My black wolf is large and overfed. He has hunted the forests on my mind into famine

he has drunk the rivers of my heart into a desert and left me thirsty.

He stalks through the streets in the clothing of my skin,

I've been feeding him for so long that when I ask for help, nobody believes I want it.

Now I have no choice.

I fed him scraps from the table.

my father's anger

my mother's lies

my sister's scorn

every ill intent ever enacted upon me.

He dragging through the fields and he is smiling.


My white wolf, he's trying so hard.

He is emaciated, all skin and bones

but he's so happy, even with that empty stomach

Months without food and he still wags his tail when the sun's rays pierce the veil of my pupils

dry heaving and dehydrated, his rough croaking howl still rises to kiss the moon on her pale blushing cheeks

He still walks.

He gives change to the needy

He makes meals out of nothing for his pack

his long empty belly fills fast with on my brother's humor

and my best friend's smile

his thirst is quenched with forehead kisses to and from my girlfriend.


My mother told me when I was young that within each of us there are two wolves fighting for control

One is white, he all that is good and he is light and love.

One is black. He is all that is evil and he is anger and hatred and fear.

I asked her who wins in the end?

to which she responded "The one you choose to feed, baby."


So to the black wolf I say:

I will not feed you anymore.

You beast of Gevaudan.

I will find you and plant silver tipped arrows in your heart

I will gag you with wolfsbane

Your howling will no longer paint fear across her face nor will your growling sow seeds of disappointment in the hearts of my loved ones.

You will starve.


To the white wiolf:

I have neglected you for far too long old friend, but you still have  a few good years left in you and i will not let them got to waste.

I will carry you home and nurse you back to health.

I will feed you all of the late night costume designs and forehead kisses you can handle

So in your old age you will be fat and content

Cozy by the fire.

Eat up boy, the good times are a coming/

© Copyright 2018 Angelo Sabia. All rights reserved.

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