Wendigo’s Feast


O ye, starving spirit ever needing,
hateful reproach, this cannibal feeding,
my want craft in persona towering,
haunting presence eating, devouring.
It grows as all the warmth inside me fades:
winter’s demon, freezing my heart, invades.
Despair my soul, irredeemable wretch,
for summer’s thawing warmth warms not this letch.
A man who by tender pleasures possessed
a house, a home, family, some peace and rest
consumed it all and ate himself besides.
Emaciated form: all that resides.
We, isolated from all human hands—
entrusting to our strong familial bands
to see us through the seasons’ undying night—
awaited spring’s awakening young light.
But stores depleted soon gave way to strife,
and hunters know the taking of a life.
What could my daughter do to save herself?
My Wife? Our Son? All meat upon my shelf.


Listen to my beautiful voice:


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