The Lone Wolf

Bitter the cold, the night.

Banking on faith, His pride.

A Michigan winter.

Deep in the pines.


Snug, nearby, His den.

Inside, concealed, lies He.

‘Tis the eve of battle.

A battle of effort, survival, of poetry.


A wounded moose, the finish line, the prize.

A race against time.

Long years have passed.

Finally, it has come.


Eyelids flicker, settling.

A deep sleep.

A dream, unforced.

His mind, unsettled.


The Wolf in a pack.

A pack with the Wolf.

Halfway there.

Painfully, The Lone Wolf wavers, commits.


Forging ahead, He strains.

Pushing past the pack.

The lead is taken, extends.

Pain clinging, fading.



The Wolf, the Alpha.


The world below Him, behind.


The moose within sight.

Survival, the prize, within grasp.

His chains, broken.

The Lone Wolf, alone, conquering.


Lonesome, He falls.

Crawling, scrambling, fighting.

Strength, betraying.

Cannot get up. Cannot look back.


The pack, closing in.

Fear, setting in.

Gravity, opposing.

Hope, disappearing.


Time, waning.

The pack, approaching, passing.

The win, slipping.

Moose, the prize, out of His control.


Grief, the indescribable kind.

Real, tangible heartbreak.

Torn, He concedes.

A mental debt.


Here in the den.

Where the shadows lie.

A deep sleep.

Eyelids flicker, opening.


An Michigan winter.

Deep in the pines.

The Lone Wolf, alone.

The race awaits.



Published by Nick Arndt

Runner of dirt, rocks, and pavement. Live/work/train in the Adirondack Mountains.

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