​The wild dogs run,

Through the prairies -

And sanctums of my mind.

Finding refuge, building dens,

In this sepulchre,

Where I thought I’d laid -

Many things to rest.

These dogs dig up old bones,

That I thought I’d buried deep -

Bringing them to the surface,

As if they are some –

Forgotten Treasure.

And when placed together,

They build the frame,

Of the man I am today.

Today I run with the wild dogs,

At peace -

In the fiery prairies of my mind.

Kevin Brown © 16.07.2016