"The hunting pack,
hardly a literal fact, nor free from fiction.
If it were true fiction, I would love it so,
for then it would be a release, not a burden.
However, it is a burden, plain and simple.
Forever there, with their soulless nature. Forever judging, by the rules they hold so dear.
Like a wolf howling in the night,
for some this sound is brushed off ever so simply.
For me however, with every howl I long more for solitude.
Away from the pack.
For whenever I'm around, they tear at my throat.
With no howl, I cannot fight back.
So forever I must roam, in search of solitude and freedom, for then and only then may I stand against the never ending hunt. "
As am not really one for writing poetry, I'm not even sure if this constitutes a poem.
Anyway, congrats on your 8 years! Here's to many more!