Metal smiling in yawning predawn light,
tearing through wraiths, murdering peace.
Echoes in the dark strobe light,
fading forgotten memories of a dream,
drifting Past in the waking calm shutter.
Anger's bitter lament
frustration's harsh lullaby
bubbling cold burn of rage
trapped in an ageless tired heart.
My animal prowling – leashed, un-caged – in my soul,
silver singing monster in my hand.
To kill or guard by situations demand.
There are many names that follow my trail
But I am who I am, Bub.
I am the Wolverine.