The Wolf at the Door

26/07/20: A poem exploring the impact of toxic masculinity on the Coronavirus pandemic and Black Lives Matter

“There’s a wolf at the door,
See its colour, not its core,”
Said the liar at the lair
Whose addicted to your pain

There’s a wolf on the prowl
licking scents of bitter air
in the hope of slating hunger on
impoverished despair.

The elderly, the vulnerable,
turned fodder in the shaded
gaze of younger care-free carriers of
memories soon to fade.

The liar paints to soothe you
with his colour of despair
as his power feeds on energy
enriched by bitter fear.

“Feed your children to the wolf,
they have no voice to scream,
save yourself from sickness,
avert their shattered dreams”

Hoax cries, neck chokes,
bald lies, trust broke.
A steaming stream inciting
raw self-interest awoke.

There’s a wolf that sews division,
coloured hate and filled with rage
whilst compassion of the lioness
gleams hope beyond her cage.

There’s a wolf painted white
hiding hunger in his core
from a spirit unprotected
from an ego seeking more

for a spirit crushed and coloured
by the liar’s greedy soul.
There’s a wolf at the door
with the liar’s coloured clothes

seeking souls that open doors
unmasked by colours of the poor.
The feeding frenzy starts
only through an open door.

Toxic masculinity
oppressed femininity,
severed lungs and arteries
a body in decay

A never-ending fantasy
of separated parts
denies a plain reality
of intersected hearts.

So paint, liar, paint
your skin-deep world of coloured bile.
The power that you crave
delivers treasures filled with rage.

Hush child, cry not
for the future you have lost
for the peace you seek that’s coloured love
lies deep within your soul.

Your coloured skin is precious,
yet your beauty lies within.
For fear is not your colour
But the love within your core.