The darkness deepens around you. The snarls of salivating wolves grow closer and louder behind you. So you run.

The wolves give chase. Panting, struggling, stumbling, screaming, you scramble to stay ahead of certain death.

Until you realize that those snarling, salivating wolves are your fears. The deepening darkness around you is your own ignorance of the scarring you’ve already endured.

And survived.

All you need to do is stop, turn, face. Put your corpse down, and “let the dead bury their dead.”

You’ve already risen up from all that. Time to walk on toward the breaking dawn before you.

when the snarls

turn to whimpers

pass through

so much newness

awaits

for Tanka Poets on Site: Gerry Muse #415. Prompt for 20 July 2024 This Scribbling Moment