Blood Scent
Alpha wolf sniffs
beads of rain,
scent of earth.
Night stalker howls
at silvery moon lantern
hanging from evening
dressed in black velvet.
Sound travels
like discordant refrain
calling mates
to join in the hunt.
Children of freedom
run toward leader
like lightning flashes,
biting air
with curved teeth.
Parades of wolves
sport winter clothes
as lemon drop moon
melts on their tongues.
Stars weep, leaving path
of red misty dust,
abyss of colors in
chilled night air,
earth scars scattered
where paws have journeyed.
Traveling by blood scent
hungry eyes serenade night,
wild spirits howling
in distant winds,
running wild
to a new tomorrow.
#cry of the wolf #challenge
The Boy Who Cried Wolf.
The boy who cried wolf,
he never heard the wolf cry
when the villagers would come
and the wolf waited to die.
Staring forlorn
up at the cold moon,
he howls each night
his lonely tune.
His song shivers
down your spine,
and around your heart
will entwine
his tears
they pin-prick
your heart will sear
at this feeling
so silently clear.
Hush your mind
tip-toe, tip-toe,
if you choose
to hear the wolf's
story of woe.
His howl makes
the sleeping trees dance
the moon will cry
and the wind come prance
We hear these things
as they whisper and move,
but no one ever hears
the cry of the wolf. ❋
The wolf’s cry
The wolf cries at night,
his sorrow so loud,
he sings in the dark,
with a soul louder
then the beating of my heart...
He cries to the moon,
breathes with the wind,
and smiles with spite.
Howling over the world,
that left him here all alone.
Wanting so much more
then the moon's bright light
on the edge of the forest
where his home once was...
and is no more.
The Wolf’s Cry
There is a place where monsters go to reminisce,
a box of letters with no address
hearts hung, still bleeding on the wall
a phone never ringing, awaiting an old lovers call
Who wipes there tears of those who cause the crying?
If I told you by heart was breaking would you think me lying?
There is a river where monsters wash their the feet
and talk of all the people they'd love to meet
a dance done in brightest part of the dark
we never speak of our broken hearts
Dragon’s Tail
Hidden deep within the vale
Lurks a dragon with length of tail,
With razor teeth,
And steel for scales.
The bravest knight,
By name Sir Keith,
Fled in fear with shrieks and wails.
His efforts came to no avail.
The dragon overcame Sir Keith,
And used his bones to make a wreath.
The sun soon set upon the vale,
And so ends this dragon's tale.
The Wolf’s Cry
The wolf's cry rang out through the night,
My older brother warned me to sit tight.
For if moved bad things would happen,
For if I moved I would be captured.
This was but a tale my brother told me,
to keep me up all night without a wink of sleep.
As a child I could not see,
this horrid trick he was playing on me.
For as a child my imagination was wild,
never letting any possibility be exiled.
Now, I know that story was a heap of shit,
and I let those fears surrender and quit.
But, although I don't believe anymore,
It doesn't mean I can't still dream and explore.
Because now I can take my dreams,
and try to make them a reality...
Dragon’s Tail
To some, a dragon's tail would be worth millions, maybe even billions of dollars. Being able to possess the tail of a creature that we thought didn't even exist, how could someone not charge large sums of money for that?
But for my younger self, the show Dragon Tales was priceless. It may not have been the tail of one of these beasts, but to me, it was of equivalent value. To my child like self, it possibly was worth even more than an actual dragon's tail would ever be.
Lady of the Opera
Beauty.
Elegance.
Astounding grace.
She walked like an angel without wings;
Barely floating though she seems to soar.
Her hair the shade of a raven’s feathers.
Eyes that thieved what once belonged to the galaxy.
I had seen her that night at the Opera,
So close yet so far away from me.
Why can I not be as beauteous as she?
I walked, not soared.
My hair dull as a strays fur.
My eyes a mere common brown.
No, I was not ugly- nor was I a beauty.
Yet she defined artistry and grace.
Many moons passed and yet she stuck with me.
No one would ever compare.
No one would ever be as gorgeous and alluring.
No one would ever be she- the lady of the opera.