Tonight The Wind Is A Bone-Cutter Poem by Mark Heathcote

Gnawing away; at any internal natural peace.
Any muscular sinew that hasn't fallen-
Off the bone and still begs for release
`Is discarded dropped to earth like a dying petal?
Ah, now hear the wolf cub's hungry howl
He, who is only a playful mauler,
All gums and white needle teeth!
Who hasn't had the last bite of a black-cherry?
Just to find a pit, a stone, beneath the sweet.
And so you and your master can't be released.
And why because its howls are heard
Roaring, rigorously, after you; its royal lions, share!
Not so long ago, I was his, only brother!
Holding fast; like a tiger.
On the back of his sliver-sleigh,
His sky-blue chariot
But now I've found a pass… through the mountains.
He wants only to tear the hide off me back
He's not out here to play.
Tonight the wind is a bone-cutter.