Matt LaMacchia / Syracuse, New York
Bloodlines traced upon the ground,
Ere' pawprints break our beaten paths,
Where numbers thin, yet wills run strong, by night we win man's brutal
Man thriving pon' our sad bloodbaths,
Lost native will, the land once hath....
Bring pity back into our dark,
Shed light upon your brutal casts,
And try to find that brutal spark,
That brought your many kin afore,
To take our kind, if nothing more,
To man the arc of history, to shed our deathwinds pon' it's masts....
Look blindly pon' these brutal casts....
Your fire bringing to the air, your presence of the land affirmed,
Our howls, weak, reeking despair,
Our callings dead upon your lead, your bitter, unforgiving germ...
Pon' chain and rope and whip we've squirmed....
For many lives of newborn pup,
With lasting breath, their heads raise up,
Their spirits weep their callings lost,
Their parents' blood upon the grass,
The hunger grows, time comes to pass,
They lay their pain against the dark, though moon and stars won't find
Until man's will comes to their crest, they finally put their souls to
To coexist the native will,
Adapt and be one with the trees, to follow scent and run the breeze,
To love the pack, to share it's will,
To care for kin, to bring down kill,
To bring up pups, improve our skill,
To nurture growth, have mouths to fill,
To play and fight and just despite,
What we succumb unto your might,
Our shortened, bitter, hellish life,
Their anger thins us like a knife,
Until they grieve their unjust strife,
OUr loss in history not hushed.....
Finding the plains of prey forgone,
We search the instincts of our kind,
But strange new prey for soul to spawn,
Has ruined our fragile way of mind,
Man's blame to be our final find...
To hide and pounce ere' sib or prey,
To hunt, to bay ere' break of day,
To trust our kin, feel warmth of May,
Catch leaves of fall, make beds of snow,
Have summer winds to shed our coats,
To lap from streams' eternal flow,
Feel winter winds' eternal blow...
To birth new life, give it a home,
Fell mother's tongue as nature's comb,
To howl and bay, ere' break of day,
Unto the night's eternal dome....
Of old we roamed about the land,
To search the breeze upon the trees,
To search the lake's familiar sand,
To coexist the native will,
Until one day into our life,
The white man came to hate and kill,
To thin our numbers like a knife...
We exist still, upon' the night,
Though still does hate, our unjust plight,
Still thrives the will, though, just despite,
Upon our blood, the wolves of yore'
Their longings shared forevermore,
To live the life, upon man's knife, not for revenge or settled score,
To be the wolf, forevermore....
With essence bright, where our souls burn, upon the night, we only yearn....
To be the wolf, forevermore..........