There is “The story of two Wolves”
One angry, lonesome and hateful
The other is bright and grateful,
But both undeniably a handful.
The story proclaims they’re in battle,
One tearing the other apart;
and you are their rightful master
destined to give the one a head-start.
The wisdom is simple and glaring,
The rule of the jungle still thrives,
No matter who’s clever and cunning,
The strongest is the one who survives.
The story invites you to ponder,
to choose between goodness and slack.
And I cannot help but wonder,
what if I don’t hurt them like that?
What if I feed them with measure,
and care for their actual needs.
What if I can find the pleasure
in both their stories and seeds?
What if my mind is atrocious
and accepts that I am but a man.
Who said the black in not gorgeous?
Why should I not when I can?
The wolves are in battle on instinct,
because it was said that they should.
However there’s good in the wicked,
and dirt clings to marvellous shoes.
The wisdom is old and it’s righteous,
But I rather preserve them then kill.
The wolves are mine and I like that,
Besides, they only do what I will.