Dec 16, 2017, 1:14 AM

The wolves die alone 

  Poetry » Phylosophy
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There where the winter's sun
meets the dark horizon
is our omnipotent panacea.
Staring in the dark shadows
of centuries-old trees,
I am trying to find
the hard and excruciating way
to the majestic knowledge.
The knowledge of happy death
and non-existence…
In front of me, LOVE
measures for a moment,
I reject it with a swish.
What is even this, whether
it is something subjective,
it's just another person -
a bag of blood and bones!

I climb up the ladder and
she! she stays behind me ...
I yell: what a secret is
hiding this cursed universe?!

I hear moans and pain…
somewhere far away
a lonely wolf is crying
He is not so different than us,
another creature of the mother nature.
His life is losing sence ,
the death is coming,
he won't survive.

And we will all die?
But how: sad or maybe…
happy, defeated by the life
or with a smile on our faces.
It all depends on us ,
but for him is already later:

The wolves die alone!

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