His heart runs wild,
Pounding out an ancient rhythm,
Pulsating…burning a hole -
His emotions tumble through, back into the cave,
Into the icy hidden tundra behind those eyes.

He is a hunter, once a tribal leader,
Now a wounded, ferocious child
Hiding…always hiding…
Pushing that anger inward, hunting
His own Soul…

His heart…it runs wild
In the recesses of his daily dance -
Once, on the darkest winter day,
A lone, fragile green shoot dared (oh, how it dared)
To break through the cold, barren ground

And, like magic, it grew and flourished,
It nurtured the dead emotions,
It softened the frozen mask the hunter wore
To protect himself from the frigid weather -
It grew…and grew

Until his heart was running free,
Until his dance broke the ice on the river
And his blood flowed again in his veins -
How he danced…how he sang,
He sang so loudly the Earth shook -

Frightened, he looked around.
He was still surrounded by ice!
Although he had danced a small patch of green,
It would take a lot of dancing…a lot of singing,
To melt the tundra of his world….

His heart ran wild,
An erratic, frantic rhythm…the faster it ran,
The faster he danced (in a circle)
Until a fissure yawned wide,
A crack in his heart…a crack in his life

Ready to swallow him whole…
Bringing him to his knees,
Pulling him down, down, down,
Caving inward, the green a dark muddy patch,
The ice closing in again…

The ice closing in, freezing his heart -
The hunter denies the hunt,
The dancer refuses to dance,
The bird in the cage will not sing -
The ice is closing in…

Dena L Moore
March 2, 2008


Thank you to everyone who has read and left me comments on my work! Blessings to you and yours!