Diary of a Wolf Cub

Hope is a boiled egg
Chilled and boxed
Alive with the promise
Of nourishment and fulfilment
Left to simmer for a time
One can only guess
Too soon or too late offering
Disappointment
Wasted efforts
Start over
The crucial moment
Delicate
Cautious
Heat and shell
A precise execution
To reveal best laid plans.
Delicious
Rich
A solid finish
The smooth empty shell
Confirms all is lost
Brief delight gone
Replaced with expectation.
Turn the shell upside down
If you stare long enough
Start to believe
This is hope.

Through inadequate expression
We find poetry
When a night sky
Becomes a battle never fought
When a battle
Becomes a symphony never heard
When a symphony
Becomes a storm never sailed
When a storm
Becomes a dream never dreamed
When a dream
Becomes a reality never lived
When reality
Becomes a night sky
I can only describe as blue
And orange
But not really orange
Because orange is orange
And blue is blue
And everyone knows
The sky is blue
But I see orange
Seeping through gauze
Running through ink
A rudely awakened blur
And there is no battle
No symphony
No storm
No dream
No reality
Just a night sky
And it is blue
And orange
Definitely orange

Busy stillness tickles
Lifting feet off the ground
Breathing light
Digesting sound.

My heart is a symphony
I have to smile
Trembling as my body
Swells with melody.