The face shimmered in front of me…ephemeral…vanishing.

Its saddened, black eyes stared back, sizing me.

It was from lives past; a faint memory cleansing me.


When it spoke, its voice trembled. But not out of fear:

Its guttural growl was more primal than dear.

It begged to be spoken to; to be given an ear.

In its tender eyes, crystal tears grew near.


It had sought me out from a dark place.

Traveled through dimensions with a different face.


And with time, though its presence grew stronger.

My sullied eyes could slowly see it no longer.


Then it gathered the strength to say to me,

With the kind of candidness only a saint could heave,

That it was me, indeed, with whom it longed to be.


It sought a Friend, it said, but had never found one.

Though in me, it thought, it had found the right one:

A vociferous mandate; an intolerable impulse,

To destroy acquiescence and cast a thousand insults.


But a friend in me? I thought. It must be insane!

For all that I touch is never the same!

I spill through with honesty; no limit within me.

A road better traveled with the devil in me.


So now the halls reverberate with voices:

Cries from the Wolf that longed for answers.

And I beckon my Solitude come hither and forth:

“Do not leave me be and do not  do not leave me alone.”