Chains and Wolves.
I did not choose the chains,
but I learned their shape.
Learned the weight of silence,
the taste of hunger,
the way rope sings
when it bites through bone.
They thought the collar
would teach me stillness.
But stillness is not silence,
and I was never empty.
I remember
the wolves beneath moonlight,
the breath of frost against my skin,
the old songs in my blood
that no blade can carve out.
I am not the boy you cast away.
I am not the beast you tried to break.
I am the howl that returns
when you think the dark is done with you.
I am the storm that waits
beneath your quiet sky.
Let the mask bite.
Let the tether burn.
I do not beg.
I endure.
And that,
is what you fear.
© 2025 EL Hewitt. All rights reserved.
This poem is part of the StormborneLore collection.
No part of this work may be reproduced, copied, or distributed without permission, except for brief quotations with proper credit.
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