Shake The Weary Muzzle

Cut you slack, for all your aching, there are no songs for bodies breaking.
The animal strain of animal gain, as animal games
Like parlor tricks when guests arrive, the weak too strong to long survive,
Nor procreate their hearts and minds in little ones for buying time.
All the rest is death and dying, earthen clods of friends and foe,
And lovers lost touch long ago.
Blurring spots behind the lids of eyes squeezed tight,
Where nothing's wrong, and nothing's right.

Gaming tables, knuckles pound, in for the kill and double down.
Wolf eyes glowing, hot breath blowing, nostrils flare in brief palpations,
Sensing subtle variations, of tundras frozen long ago, of memories we cannot know.
Drag down prey and monster pots, death and dying, warm and hot,
Dragged home in bankrolled bloodied clots, to huddled humans on the spot.
Dead weight collapses on dried leaves, the shaking, wearied muzzle heaves.
Exhaustion howls, the wind and rain, the world begins to shrink again
To black hole point, ceased conscious mind, the empty sleep of cow eyed calm.

Rise and fall in repetition, reborn daily dead condition.
Endless night, endless day, endless give and take away.
Warm sun the fur, the animal rises, another day with no surprises,
Interval sets of daily stress, the keen knife edge scrapes clean the mind,
Re-tunes the soul, clears recollections, the self is wiped in all directions.
Blank to what it cannot see, so forced to be what it must be.
The will submits, the world demands, shifting gravities force the hand,
As nature calls, the will commands,
To do this all again today, to hunt, to kill, to seek out prey.

Death, not glory, that is this story.
Fade to black, fade to black,
As before, I take it back.
No music there, and no respite, just howl the moon and sleep till noon,
As this will all be over soon.
Look up, look down, walk there, turn 'round,
Be still, then move, then pounce, then kill, then feed, don't weep, relax, then sleep
No more music, no more games,
All your days are all the same