The Pack
- One Love Energy
- Mar 23
- 1 min read
The Pack
A low growl, barely heard at first,
shivers through the frozen marsh,
rustling the dry reeds of memory.
You feel it before you see it:
the cold press of an unblinking eye,
the collective intent, a single hunger.
They do not come with horns or cloven hooves,
but in the blue uniformity of the pack,
their breath clouding the air
with a scent you recognize
from old, ancestral nightmares.
The law, they call it, a sterile word
for teeth that hold and tear.
It begins slowly, a nibbling at the edges
of your history. A story you once told
re-shaped into a collar. A glance
you gave, now a leash. They consume
the spaces where you used to move,
chewing on your solitude until
there is nowhere left to hide.
You are no sacred clown to them,
just a weight to be dragged down,
a spark to be smothered in the mud.
They swallow your voice, and you feel
the slow, wet digestion of your truth.
You are being dismantled, bone by brittle bone,
while the forest watches, silent and complicit,
basking in the shadow of their feast.
And what remains, in the deep of winter,
is not a story, but a scuff-mark in the snow,
a quiet, terrible absence where a life
should be singing its difficult, beautiful song.
