Wolf and the Howl

Once again, it was peaceful. However, peace never state beauty. It does not attribute recollection and wholesomeness. Peace… How can it be peaceful, when the fire ranges so high? In the height of the flames comes the horror of grief and sorrow. Peace… maybe it was just quiet but never peaceful.

There are no gunshots but there is a battle. There are no bullets but, the pain, it rips the flesh reaching the bone. No blood was lost but there is death. Ironic how the moon shines so bright in this quiet night and no one can hear the frequent whimper caused by a mere howl.

Why?

The pain in that howl, it resonates to each and one of us, from one to another; yet it remains inaudible. It echoes the walls of our heads. It drums along with our racing heartbeats. It was there, evident and loud, yet no one can hear a tiny sound.

But not for me; never for someone to whom that howl came from.

Maybe this is just it. No one will ever understand what was that howl for. As if perhaps, they don’t know what was that for, or they just don’t really care at all. Know it or not, it was the howl that came from a lone wolf. A wolf howling for something it could never have – the moon.