hunter.

When it rolled away,
I thought to myself:

I may have just lost my head.

(I was wrong)

Instead:

I had given the things I longed to love,
for shelter and a self-warming bed.

That stray dog freedom that I howl for;
That comfort that in absence makes me tear,

I'm caught between now and never,
so for now I'll stay right here.

Better men look down on me,

saying:

"You better do your part!"

I want to bloody and bludgeon them,
but I just smile and make a start.

Constructing, building, improving:
everyday we are making strides.

Maybe...

we will someday be the hunter (nestled in his blind).
We will get up early.
And trudge through the dark, all cold air exhale and coffee starts.
Waiting to find a prey:
that bullet wounds can take their course, and will ultimately make it stay.

Because the dreams are gone, just plans remain.
The difference is subtle:
we get sanded, polished, and stained.
To turn the heads, to make use and progress.

before we catch that westbound train.