Henry

[swilow]

Henry

The old trail
Winding through bursting gums
and wandering along
dry creek and watched by
Stark factories of drug production
where cockatiels- had found their home
upon-a-pond made by hands
to replace the draining (or mock?)
of the old creek and the winding trail
forgotten by man
centuries ago.

He see's through the mist
to the walkers
approaching
and fixes his stance for the fight
upon the trail of the dry creek
Beneath the wattles and cockatiels
who take flight at his demeanour
the stance of a hunter
burnt into his bones
And the walkers approach
Parting the mist arising from
the wild grass and forest debris
And he, knowing the scent of this old-
Relaxes and bows his head
for fingers to wend over a body
made centuries ago.

And the walkers receded, no heed
given for the drug factories
As part of the scape as the old trail and creek
And he once more, ducks head
Eyes averted, scent flirting and
relaying its origin
to his mind made many years ago

And he pays no heed to the factories
or the creek, or the trail-ness of the trail
But only gives thought to the scent
on the winds
through the wattles
Transmitting data
into his beautiful mind
And He remembers this walk made-
Walked centuries ago
And knows he will roam forth
into the unknown myths
that await his eternal rebirth,
in the flesh of a beast
that watched the flames
of ancient man
millenium's ago.​

 

[New]

I love the sense of focus in this. It really portrays the protaganist well.

 

[swilow]

^Also the protagonist is me doggy, Henry the Rottweiler. A proud and noble friend