Act 10: “Wash Away Whispers”

Every day I’d stare at the ravine.
No reason really, other than to whisper to you.
Your gentle bones shielded by thick, dense fibers.
Your wire-brush fur softly revealing the wind’s intent.

Three months eclipsed since I first pressed the soil.
The men of my kind, however, many moons before.
I posed questions to you at dawn, but they were for not.
Just whispers adrift on the plain’s ether.

I was certain you sensed me, though you showed no signs.
Beast and man separated by mere meters and a persistent flow.
You’d dip your head to drink; I made note of your disposition.
Strong and unsure, like a god who’d relinquished its rule.

Every day I’d stare at the ravine.
Your presence now scant and calculated.
I concluded I was the reason you’d come back at all.
Vane speculation.

You beast. You creature. You catoblepas.
Why do you simply stand there?
Or do you just not care?
Sip again from the bank as if it shifts the tide.

Today you stared back, right through my soul.
Across the ravine, and yet we were one.
That’s then I noticed.
That’s when I noticed your eyes filled with nothing.

No mother, no father, no brothers.
You had noticed the change indeed.
Killed on the winds of a dangerous world.
You knew it was just a matter of time.

I never went back to that ravine.
A burden I’d have to bear.
I still whisper to you often.
Though I know you cannot hear.

Inspired by the tattoo artistry of @kevinseawellart

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