Wolf-That-Hungers
waits at the gate of dreams.
She steals
the breath of sleepers and lies upon their chest.
Her howl is
the crying of a hungry child;
Her fur is
as grey as starvation.
Crop-blight
follows her;
In her
shadow crawls drought.
As locusts
does she cut a path.
Her path is
that of the dry riverbed.
She knocks
upon the door in human guise.
Her guise is
that of the landlord.
She knocks
upon the door in human guise.
Her guise is
that of the repo man.
She knocks
upon the door in human guise.
Her guise is
that of the IRS.
Famine is her
sire. Her dam is Greed.
Whelps has
she, and many:
Blight and mold,
Locust and marching army,
Flood and drought,
Blight and mold,
Locust and marching army,
Flood and drought,
Envy and
Lust.
These are
her vanguard.
For her
rearguard, there is only Death.
She hungers
for all that she sees
And her
stomach is larger than her eyes.
Her
possessions are numberless
Yet always
she desires more.
By many
names is she known:
Wolf-That-Hungers
Void-With-Legs
Wolf-That-Hungers
Void-With-Legs
The Devourer
Ashtanek
Tamarial.
Tamarial.
Capitalism
pays her worship,
Communism
strengthens her jaws.
Long she
will wait at the gate of dreams,
Stealing the
breath of the sleepers.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Just wrote this one the other night. I enjoy writing exaltations for vaguely-malevolent beings: Forces of nature, human vices, stuff like that. It has a lot of room for interesting imagery.
