A Wolf Long Gone

A sky of blush and bleeding red,

A sun that glares where gods have bled.

The hound’s head lingers, torn, undone,

Mouth agape in a silent stun.

Chains still cling like phantom hands,

Binding it to distant lands.

A body lost, a fate denied,

Yet open eyes still burn with pride.

The wound is deep, the wound is raw,

A testament to fate’s cold claw.

Yet in the crimson-painted glow,

Does it dream, or does it know?

Drifting through the silent air,

A relic of a world unfair.

Is it pain, or is it peace?

Is it death, or mere release?

The sun, a watcher, red and wise,

Reflects in hollow, severed eyes.

A head alone, yet thoughts remain—

A dream persists beyond the pain.