The Beverly Arts
A poem by Joey Zhou
Is not only the crescent moon in memory,
Or the faint starlight around the moon,
And the stars and the full moon,
There are moments of the night sky and the meteor;
The wolf is wailing.
The wolf is calling,
The wolf is a loud roar of the vast.
Not only the rising sun on the horizon,
Or the mountains illuminating in the morning glow,
And the golden light,
And the bright noon sun;
The wolf is blood.
The wolf is the fire of nature's call,
The wolf is waiting for darkness to fall.
It's not just thirst.
And loneliness and waiting,
And do your best to run;
The wolf is the youth,
Wolf is vitality,
The wolf lingers, helplessly waiting.
It's not just desire.
And greed and death.
And faithful love;
The wolf is separate.
The wolf is the distance of love and hate,
The wolf is fast as lightning breaks.
It's not just loneliness.
Or the wildness of the wild.
And independence, And alone.
And the God of self-subservience;
The wolf is loyal.
The wolf is insisting,
The wolf is reborn perseverance.