I hear the call,

beckoning me

from my neurotic stupor.

Bathed in the bleached, white diode,

senses masticated,

gnawed to numbness.


From some long forgotten,

forsaken precipice,

the savage howl

whistles on the wind.

It still knows

the night is coming

and there is plenty of meat

in the forest.


The land is fat

and the prey are slow,

calmed by medicine men

and constant succor.


My heart leaps at the call.

Adrenaline dumps,

pupils dilate

and my jaws seem wider,

full of many teeth.


My vision clears

and the feigned fire light

loses its allure.

The sounds of men degrade,

back to the non-sensical grunting

of their ancestors.


The only light I crave

is fire;

burning here,

or millions of miles away.



cannot conceal,

or deceive;

they just burn

and guide me forward.


The only sounds that draw me

are the wind in the trees,

the water in the river,

the waves on the ocean,

and the eagle’s cry.

There is prey on the mountain.


I hear the calling of my brothers;


who have not forgotten.

Who broke the hold

of decadence and vice,

to live

back in the savage lands.



is a light in the sky,

and nothing

between us and the horizon.


HG – 2019


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