by Brittany Berry
In the chilling rain, through the passage of
time, I run, Fur highlighted in the moonlight, paws caressing
the undergrowth. My eyes look to the moon, and I see te face
there, of my creator, a conplexionless being who set us free.
I howl out into the night, with my pack following my lead, overjoyed
at our freedom. We howl our complaints and lamentations, at the
distruction of our home. The hunters come and shall run, though
many may fight, all shall fail. For, all alone in our alabaster
palace, we run in a desert of serinity, our lips never touching
that ruby chalice; that has so tainted the furless ones. We are
the moons' children, so seek not, for we are the seekers.