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Jul 2022 · 51
When she dreams
Danny Wolf Jul 2022
She is serene.
Samsara has no grip on her soul.
She lived a life of transcendence.
The hand of Cycles unclenched itself in the presence of her holiness.
Bowed at her altar,
Made prayers to her name.
She laid a hand upon the youthfulness of my cheek,
Wiped the tears from my eyes,
Illuminated the swallowing darkness
And took with her my grief.
“Let your heart swell in joy,
My little one,
Pray to me with wholeness in your heart,
for I have never known breath so deep,
or peace so unwavering.”
The waves no longer swell and break and crash.
The waters she lays upon are like glass.
Vritti cita niroda (the cessation of waves in the mind space).
I am still here,
And her love coats me as warm as a summer breeze.
I am safe here,
Where I can look into her emerald eyes once more
And just be.
Jul 2022 · 32
A farmers fingers
Danny Wolf Jul 2022
When I think I haven’t worked hard enough,
I look at the soil that has pressed itself deep into the cracks of my skin,
and at the purple stain of wild blackberries that has seeped in.
Hands washed, body showered & bathed,
And its memory of hours of work put in holds tight to my fingers.
The soil & stain know they are safe here.
Welcomed, treasured, revered.
They have become part of my fingerprints,
The way I recognize myself,
Know it’s my own hands I look at that bring tears to my eyes.
Dirt is etched into my fathers ring that I wear,
Amplifying the holiness of the cross it bears.
I am sun stained and
So. So. Tired.
The essence of farming lives in the soreness of my cells.
Picking beans already feels like a thousand years ago,
And tomorrow will come too soon-
Before I am rested.
And I will great the morning sun rising over the mountains will a deep breathe.
I will pull my boots on and my body will ache for the days work-
Begging to feel and overcome the discomfort of hundreds of feet bent over pulling weeds,
unsatisfied until my muscles want to give from exhaustion,
not done until my shirt is soaked with sweat,
and still from depths something asks for more.
More work, more ache, more hours.  
Slowly, please…
Through each painstaking and life giving moment here
So I can absorb the density of every single second I’ve spent with my knees pressed into this altar.
Slowly, please…
Because I know I am safe here.
Mar 2022 · 109
Seed in her hand
Danny Wolf Mar 2022
Skywoman fell from her world above with seed in her hand. The muskrat, dead of life, clenched mud in its paw, its final offering so Earth could become. It all begins with soil and seed. Soil, a micro universe of life sustaining life. Seed, the tiny carriers of stories and sustenance. Two rich and sacred beings I will learn well in my life. My fingers have placed many seeds into cells packed with fertilized soil, placed many seeds straight into the Earth. I have watered them, transplanted their strong roots and promising sprouts, tended to them, harvested their food body and been nourished by their flesh. Soil and seed are the foundation of all plant life, and thus, the foundation of us. Their cells become our cells. Their fiber scrubs our bodies clean of waste and sin. They are the Earth's lungs that breathe life into our lungs. Skywoman fell with seed in her hand. Seed from another world, her offering to a place not originally her home. Turtle Island is not the home of my ancestors. I feel discomfort in the thought of tending to land that was brutally stolen. I find solace in the story of Skywoman. Through her steadfast dedication and reciprocity with the land, Turtle Island welcomed Skywoman in, let itself become her home by its own choice. Her offering of seed a promise to be its tender, its stewardess. Although this Land of Turtle Island is not the roots and soil of my Ancestors, we are all inhabitants of a greater Earth. Through the waters and the mycelial network buried under the old growth forest, I can reach to where my great, great, great, great grandparents stewarded land and tended to beast alike. Their stories are not lost to me, and although I may not know them in the form of words, they are, like the plants, the cells, blood and bone of my being. They comprise the very physical structure and spiritual essence of who I am. And so although this Land of Turtle Island will never be my ancestral home, I can only pray to become its native in time, by its choice, by its welcome. My ancestral home is Earth, as it is for all human life. All of the two legged beings that came before me have foot-printed her soft soil, swam in her rivers, and returned their naked bodies deep in the ground to be food for worms and microbes that digested both their skin and stories. These pieces of human life nourish the soils where wild ramps and fiddleheads grow, where wine berries burst in color, and where carrot seed roots itself sweet and deep. What are we but food for the impeccable microbial universe present in each and every handful of soil? If I work in this life to make my body, my flesh, my muscle, my blood, the most nutritious food for the micro beings to consume and put to new use when I am placed naked and free back into the ground, then I will have done part of my duty. May I one day be potent medicine for them. My duty, next to nourishing the microbes when my heart no longer beats, is to tend to this land as home, healer and relative. One day there will be land that I need, and it will find me, and I will work each day to know and tend and feel and understand that land like my own very body. Until that day, and still after, I will build upon my own heart and mind a beautiful layer of compost and woodchips to breakdown and become rich, soft soil. Soil that retains and builds nutrients and water, is beautifully aerated and loamy. I will build that world within myself so I can extend it outward to every seed I touch, every wild and cultivated food I harvest. And, when that land comes to allow me to tend to it, my offerings will be of humble, hard work. Of service. My work will be to become its native. May the birds know the beat of my footsteps like they know the beat of their own hearts. May the coyotes and the rabbits and the groundhogs and squirrels know my scent the way they know the scent of the wildflowers that have bloomed alongside them year after year, decade after decade. May the soil know the salt of my sweat that has dripped into its universe every day from April to October under the heat of the Sun. May my salts and electrolytes mix with their world, day in and day out, until they need me, too, to survive. May I be as integral to the system as every bee that pollinates the flowers, every frog that eats the bugs, and every fungus that consumes the dead leaf particles and turns them into fertile forest floor for the ferns and other fauna to emerge in ecstasy and vigor. The flavor of this place will be as diverse as the many worlds that collide and coalesce to create it. And I yearn for the day to know the shade of golden yellow of the butter that comes from the cream that separated from the milk that comes from the cow that’s been nourished by the land we have inhabited and fell in love with together. One day I will know just by the subtle change of the smell of the breeze that the magnolias and daffodils are about to blossom. I will know the sweetness of my carrots and green beans, the lingering smell of garlic scapes on my hands after plucking them in May. But first I must make a home of myself. First, my own body, mind, spirit, must be tended to with such adoration and respect and beauty and brilliance. So I will start there…becoming native to my own body. Becoming home to my own self.
Jan 2022 · 56
The wood burning stove
Danny Wolf Jan 2022
I will miss the wood burning stove in my parents house-
My favorite corner-
Where house becomes home.
And I will miss
the sounds of fire and flame-
And the smell weaving its way throughout the house on a cold January morning-
And the warmth of being in the presence of things ancient & forever-
And chopping, stacking, & carrying wood with my dad-
And just sitting here,
sipping dark roast
& raw milk,
can’t take my eyes off the dance of flames - so **** beautiful.  
I will miss thinking nothing here,
letting it be-
Nov 2021 · 61
Danny Wolf Nov 2021
You make me want to lay here forever
ignoring the sun
and all of the pieces of myself scattered across my room
tangled in clothes I wore to the bar
that still hold a hint of your smell
from when you hugged me
laid your hand across my cheek
told me you loved me
and I think of her.
I think of how she would feel.
So I try to feed the good wolf
and bite my tongue when you tell me I look beautiful
that you miss me.
I take it all in
blame it on myself
for showing up to where I know you’ll be
and I think of her
in the dark.
Am I no better?
I don’t know if I am.
Sep 2021 · 52
Danny Wolf Sep 2021
I want to send you an album.
But I can't.
I can't ignore the fact the we kissed
and let more go unspoken.
I hate that if I never said anything,
neither would you.
I have a paralyzing fear of your silence.
I think of that day that I watched your back as you walked down the E hallway
and we didn't speak for months.
I'm still sorry for that.
She sings of the telepathic desert
and I feel that.
My mouth is dry from the silence.
Ten years of words unspoken
(and feelings felt).
I can always feel you,
but will you hear me through the desert?
Part of me wants to be screaming,
feels like I need to.
When I listen to you sing a love song,
I try to decode if it's about me
because I just wanna know how you really feel.
None of them have been about me,
so I have to ask,
how do you really feel?
It's so hard for me to speak
because I'm afraid of you taking it the wrong way.
Have you kept the walls up because you think I'm waiting?
Because you think I'm seeking more?
Sometimes I think I'm crazy for even believing there is one there.
Is there a wall up?
Please, tell me I'm not crazy...
Everywhere else I feel so **** grounded,
but somehow you still shake the Earth inside of me.
Maybe there is a way to understand this cosmically,
the way your stars intertwine with mine.
What time did you take your first breath?
And did I feel it inside of me?
Sometimes I think of how sad I'd be if I ever lost you.
(Sad is a sick understatement).
Sometimes I think of how sad I'd be if I never got to put it all out there.
I don't want to grieve something I never said,
but I've been grieving these words unspoken to you for years.
I always want you to know how much I love you,
and that you are a special to me I can not explain.
I remember the first time I felt you,
sitting in history class sophomore year,
you said something so simple.
It was the first time you shook the Earth inside of me.
I found my sister in the hallway later that day and told her I found my soul mate.
I have learned a new definition of that over the years as I have picked up pieces of myself in the souls of many.
Something of our souls is made of the same dust.
We are like the fireflies,
ruled by super natural forces,
in perpetual cosmic sync.
Our lights will always understand how to shine together,
how to find each other in the dark.
You and I predate this lifetime,
and I guess some stories never finish getting written.
But I long to know your side of it,
the pages you've burned
and the one's you've tucked me away in.
I long to know in hopes that we can find ourselves on the same page.
Feb 2021 · 80
Drunk // Words
Danny Wolf Feb 2021
You made a comment,
You let your drunken tongue slip,
And out came words
like a drunken man’s fist.
To my gut they went first,
To the place in my body
That holds all the pain.
To a place I conditioned
my “mindless”, “privileged” mind
to hate.
I digest them easily,
Familiar still the taste
of words about excess,
the body and the mind
do not forget.
I’m used to too much.
These words are internalized,
they become a part of my system-
I feel the universe shifting within.
These words are a black hole,
an off switch,
a portal to my darkness-
a place from which I am afraid
to speak,
a place where
my mind is not crystalline,
but jagged and shattered.
I speak with intentions
to cut you open,
forgetting the words
will rip my throat on the way up.
And I can feel tears
down the back of my throat,
Salting the wounds
we’ve just invoked.
I don’t want to taste this,
I promised to myself
Too many times
I wouldn’t swallow anything
that wasn’t intended to help me heal.

written sometime around 11/18/2016
Nov 2020 · 88
Danny Wolf Nov 2020
Sometimes the days are so tender
And you feel so far away from everything you know you are
(Strong, resilient, beautiful)
And you just want to crawl out of your own skin
And return to the Earth and star dust you are made of
There is a vastness you are trying to find
Like the ocean
And the mountains
An ancientness and forever you can taste
But are struggling to be
The crashing waves are just the same as the tears that roll down your cheeks
You’re not sure why or how
But you know that it is just the way it’s always been
I believe pain only come from two places -
Love, and lack of it.
How far have her ashes traveled since the day my father poured them into the ocean?
I watched as the waves crashed over his boots
And he didn’t even think to move
It was the most beautiful and utterly heartbreaking thing I have ever seen
I come here stand face to face with the deepest pain
I have ever known
And to be reminded that angels exist everywhere
In every form
When we let them in
Nov 2020 · 80
Danny Wolf Nov 2020
To be light
Has always been so foreign to me.
I think I only know depth.
Even when I’m high,
**** is it heavy.
My lines between pleasure and pain are thin.
You know when the love is so **** good it hurts?
Like it’s breaking you open
Shattering you
Into something new.
I am comfortable under the dark moon
And understand the things that are meant to be colored
yet come in black
Like shadows
They are a friend of mine
I like their shape and ambiguity
How they show that light shines darkness, too
Sometimes I stay awake at night
Just to be with it
It’s stillness and silence entice me
I don’t think I came from the sky,
I am from deep
within the Earth
Cradled in the warm darkness of her womb & waters
I am from the ash of the Fire
in her core.
Aug 2020 · 76
Hunger & Home
Danny Wolf Aug 2020
There’s a hunger in my stomach
and it tastes like you.
Like memories,
just can’t satiate the same.
Although it’s never quite filled me
in just the ways I’ve wanted it too.
I want to know you,
again and again and again.
I long to feel closeness,
to fill the gaps between us
and **** up all the air you breath out.
I’ll never let you slip away
through the sieves in my mind.
But, if I know you at all,
you’ll find a way back in.
We’ll walk together in dreams
(and the hunger will follow me).
I want to swallow you whole
so you can feel how you somehow
still shake the Earth inside of me.
You are a home that I am sometimes
speechless inside of,
and almost all the walls are down.
We stand on opposite sides,
almost always.
And I long for one of us to walk around.
Danny Wolf Jul 2020
Like the wind between my fingers
I know so well but can never hold
I can catch in my hair
Or in a memory
Like the days it blew strong on the New Mexico mountains
Rustling through the sweet high desert sage
A feeling familiar
I know you, Wind
Although to you, am I just another of the many faces you have blown upon?
I know you will always carry me
From the banks of the Ganges where I breathed deeper than I ever have before
To the space within my circle of tobacco prayers
I looked at the moon and it danced in the night sky
You blow beyond the realms of Earth
Into the queendom of Spirits and Angels
And she is behind you,
a light beyond the moon
My Grandmother’s Sky
Shines down upon me
I can still hear the voice
So clear.
I entangle myself with it before I sleep
And in the morning I wake still in dreams
Of catching you
In my hand
And it being real
That I can hold you
Feel you as more than just the reprieve of a soft breeze in summers heat
That I can **** you into me
And you will catch onto all of the tiny pieces
Where you exist inside of me
You are the one who has traced yourself along all of the waters
Who fears the edge of no mountain
But rather seeks the journey beyond human’s perception
Maybe you are God
Is there none but you so Ancient?
So incomprehensible
With elegance far unknown to flesh and blood
Or have you carried us with you since the beginning of time?
All there’s ever been is existence.
Death is like you.
Ungraspable and barren.
Omnipresent and miraculous.
I will turn myself into the wind.
Jul 2019 · 192
Desert Rose
Danny Wolf Jul 2019
Today is filled with headaches and their residuals,
with tears I wish I knew how to cry.
When will I feel worthy of releasing this?
I keep ripping up fresh healed wounds,
giving because time became a mystery.
Have all of me,
because I know I’m not here to stay -
can stitch it up and refill later.
I’m full with emotions that I know all too well.
Felling too big to hide within myself.
This is what holding in feels like.
Feel you sticking in my lungs,
pushing through my thoughts.
My own body, demanding itself to be heard.
Soon a ringing in my head,
knives at the womb -
twisting, ripping free,
cause my heart can’t help but hold on.
Will she rage at me again?
     I’m sorry.
I’m always sorry -
     for you, for being too much, for taking
     it to heart, for loving, for-giving.
Never for myself.
And I do not deny that
I know my body language
and I know when I’m not listening.
I know my demons by design
and I know when they are starving.
My own hands feed them.
Too busy distracting myself from the things I know are good for me.
That love I want is far.
That love I need staring back at me.
Her hands, reaching out,
she feels the cold
and is pushing through,
reaching into abysmal distance
for something to take hold.
To pull me back home.
Voices I wish I didn’t want to hear
are singing and enchanting me.
I’m left to face
and this age old Demoness,
withstanding the trials of time.
Tell me what you feed upon
and I’ll serve you on a ******* silver platter.
You are so delicate,
like a flower.
You are all the thorns
you don’t really want to be.
To be seen as precious,
(you are so precious)
so precious they don’t want to pick you,
destroy your beauty.
I’m afraid of any more withering.
Let me stand alone
like the desert rose,
like the blade pushing through the concrete.
Never chosen,
always just a wonder.
Danny Wolf Jul 2019
I sit here under a clouded sky,
the winds carry these prayers far and wide.
My Angels burn within this Holy Fire,
and I am everything but alone.
The embers, the glow.
For the first time I am warm when the air is cold.
Time may just have stopped,
and in this moment it may just be me and this fire,
me and all I’ve ever truly needed -
the sense of Spirit running,
pulsing through me.
The mountains, my mothers,
the stars, my hidden fathers.
I want to be no where but here.
The smoke encircling me,
making me clean again.
I hear the voices of my loved ones,
I see my grandmother looking down over me,
smiling at her little girl,
grown into woman,
into someone beautiful.
I hope my father is proud,
and my mother at peace.
I pray for those who are hurting to find something that to them,
feels like this fire does to me.
Something that can heal and nurture even the most wounded parts of their being
and make them feel safe inside their body,
made of both flesh and Spirit.
I smell the sweet cherry tobacco,
the burning Pine and sage.
I am home here.
I am home because I am in prayer,
in understanding with Creation,
again connected to the Holy Spirit
that breathed life into me.
There is contentment in this moment,
where I can find deep gratitude in all my pains of the past,
and where fear has no place inside of me,
or anything surrounding.
The fire speaks to me loudly and it’s mantra is
“It’s okay.
It’s okay, child of the Universe,
I will hold you when you are suffering,
when you are at a loss,
when you do not understand.
And even if you walk away for a long time,
I will burn the same when you return.
I will remember your name,
for it holds my essence,
    you hold my essence,
in your Spirit, in your scars.
I will remember your hands,
for I have marked you with beauty and strength.
Tend to to me,
and you will come so gracefully back to yourself.
You will learn to be soft, precise, fierce.
You will learn to nurture,
to bring warmth and light to everyone in your presence.
You will learn how to turn from ember to flame,
how to turn so graciously to dust and ash.
How to become something from nothing,
and how you need Air and Earth to survive,
and water to keep you calm.”
This path is golden,
but not without pain -
tis why we pray.
This path is the greatest love I have ever known,
tis why we pray.
And in that is everything.
That we never need a reason,
yet everything is a reason.
I can send my voice up as tears of both grief and gratitude flow out of me.
Could there be anything more beautiful?
More true?
I know undying trust
and pain just as absolute.
I know the pain, the shattering pain,
is what made me search, have faith, believe, understand.
Dedicate myself to something profound.
I know love is the true essence,
why these hands only want to give and hold.
Why I will stay up all night by this fire alone as the moon makes her way through the night sky.
And I won’t question a thing.
Not where, not why or how.
Tonight I will relieve myself of the constant tilling and uprooting of every piece of my life and suffering.
I will leave space for the Divine to make itself a home inside of me,
and remind me how absolutely precious I am,
Life is.
I will let my body be the altar tonight,
and not dare doubt
how life could ever be this beautiful.
May 2019 · 154
Danny Wolf May 2019
It froze me cold in the thick of night,
The demons taking hold.
Feeling myself falling into this hole.
I can no longer taste the mornings of waking before sunrise
and praying that I please be better today than the day before.
More pain is encircling me now,
I’m chasing my own tail trying to get back to myself.
The walls are caving in and my breath is shortening.
Why don’t you remember what it means to stand in your truth?
I’m calling out to you.
My heart is breaking for the broken,
And I’m fragile still from the shattering of death.
I can not hold the broken glass.
The shards are ripping me at the seams.
I’m bleeding, can’t you see?
Can’t you see how this is tearing into me?
I smell that demon on your breath,
Clouding up your head,
And the exhales are slowly suffocating me.
I thought I could handle them,
But they seem to be slipping into my bloodstream.
The fears of you alone
Carving knives into your soul,
I swear it shakes me to the bone.
So I toss aside myself,
Thinking I can just pick her up later.
But as your cup runs empty,
So does mine,
And I have to pull the energy to nurture from dangerously deep inside,
From my own place that I hide.
Where no one is supposed to go.
You haven’t seen the tears.
You haven’t heard the weeping.
But I promise you they’re there,
Ravaging and reaping.
This was never supposed to hurt.
May 2019 · 267
Outside myself
Danny Wolf May 2019
I see her body
The shapes it takes as she walks through the rain
The Enchantress she’s embraced
A temptress
A Demoness
A dark moon overhead
Raised arms to the open sky
They dance in the rain to escape what’s inside
She lays her head upon the pillow
Kisses his lips
But he won’t bite back
He feels the grip of her hands on his back as they rest quietly beside her
She works with something higher
There’s something about a boy with demons
That entices her reasoning
The way he make her throw her cares to the wind
The way he send tingles across her skin
Body ritual on her mind
Pulling herself out from the inside
She takes one look in those eyes
As he pulls her in from the outside
Mar 2019 · 1.1k
Grief 2
Danny Wolf Mar 2019
My grief is a sickness towards everything around me. My grief is paralyzing resistance. My grief is the midwife to my anger. My grief is walking in a cloud of darkness. My grief is dressed in black. My grief is a slow poison leaking. My grief is a stone in my heart. My grief is tears buried so **** deep. My grief sounds like muffled screaming. My grief wants to scream. My grief wants love, to laugh, to be seen. My grief wants nothing but to exist without judgement. My grief is just trying to make its way out of me. My grief doesn’t want to be the enemy. My grief doesn’t want to make me cold. My grief wants to speak and tell you I’m sorry for how your grief was to you. My grief is lack of compassion because I’m hurting and feel like I must be silent. My grief is ancient. Universal. My grief plays out in dreams that co-star my guilt. My grief knows me inside and out. It has a place in every cell. My grief is held, cradled in the safe, warm arms of it’s mother. My grief has outgrown what I can hold. My grief lives within the soul of the universe, so I know you feel it too. My grief is the deep breaths. My grief is the fruit from a seed of love. My grief has roots. My grief is so sacred. My grief is you. It’s her. My grandmother. My grief is her last words. My grief is that I don’t feel I am living up to them. My grief misses your voice. And mine. My grief is for me, too. My grief is still grieving. My grief is knowing that it won’t ever stop.
Dec 2018 · 237
Danny Wolf Dec 2018
“Let me hold precious the memory of those who have crossed over by letting them be a part of me.” May I be granted with opportunities in my daily life to honor them through kind and loving actions towards others. When my heart is darkened by the strokes of pain, may laughter emerge from a deep fallow within me and allow for a moment of joy.

“Dissolve the haze of fury, and help me be patient as the puzzle comes together over time.” When I question, “Why?” remind me of my faith in Creation. Bring to light my roll in this becoming, and help me forgive myself for my actions that have contributed to my suffering. Grant me the space to be with my anger and move through its outbursts to its source. Implant within me the tools to feed its call for action with love.

“Mellow my hearts rhythms when it engages in a race with my thoughts.” Help me to stay present to my emotions so I can give them the acknowledgement they deserve. When the tears flow and my chest aches, allow the winds of my ancestors to create space within my heart for healing. Break down my walls so their love can permeate through my being.

“Inject me with a reminder that I didn’t come this far to abandon myself now.” Help me remember these prayers. Give them an open pathway to soak into my subconscious and become my way of living. May I swallow them and let them become my blood, my cells, my being - my foundation for higher consciousness.

May my grieving become a light in the abyss of the unknown.
Quotations from Prayers of Honoring GRIEF by Pixie Lighthorse
Dec 2018 · 166
As She Lays Dying
Danny Wolf Dec 2018
Little hands are reaching out,
Broken hearts screaming silent cries.
Moving through the veil of life,
through the eminence of this death we shall rise.
In the presence of the magnitude of her love,
this pain is but a pinprick,
a thorn upon the roses stem.
It shall bloom forever,
for the soul knows no end.
The planets shift and move,
reminding me I can do the same.
Our destinies may be carved in stone,
but the author is none other than the hand that is our own.
She’s spilled her blood and exposed her scars,
handles ****** with an elegant grace.
No anger in the bones that will rest,
her peace un-jeopardized by an unexpected fate.
I breathe the moments bedside deep -
extract her nectars,
her love, her faith.
Silently I bow my head,
and promise to honor all that is her name.

Nov 2018 · 162
Hold You
Danny Wolf Nov 2018
To feel them,
those tiny arms, so fragile.
Held you like a babe,
like you held me.
And every reason I chose you
existed within that moment.
Standing only to hold you up,
mothering the broken.
I will hold you in my heart
the way she held you in her womb.
I will carry you that way.
To do so is my purpose -
there by both choice and design.
I am the hands that hold the chain,
anchor suspensed.
There is lead in my heart, too.
I will measure our love by this moment.
For you, to cry and let me
hold you
holds the only weight.
This is all it ever was,
and all it ever will be.
Aug 2018 · 7.8k
Losing You
Danny Wolf Aug 2018
Losing you feels like my body ripping at the seams
(Losing you feels like birthing a new purpose)
Losing you feels like the cry of an abandoned babe
(Losing you feels like a new search is beginning)
Losing you feels like foundation crumbling in my fingers
(Losing you feels like rebuilding myself)
Losing you feels like all the pain of a lifetime bottled into a single jar
(Losing you feels like love is present everywhere now)
Losing you feels like a rage from the core of my being
(Losing you feels like making every action purposeful)
Losing you feels like breaking everything I once deemed as sacred
(Losing you feels like now I understand what it means to hold something as sacred)
Losing you feels like the sky will always be black
Like it will always be raining
(Losing you feels like a new duty has been cast upon me from the heavens
Like the feeling of rain on my skin)
Losing you feels like the burning
Like the old scars no longer matter to me at all
(Losing you feels like the fire is now warmer
Like there are new wounds scaring over)
Losing you feels like gasping under crashing waves
Like drowning
(Losing you feels like every breathe is important
Like the first gasp of air)
Losing you feels like a forever famine
(Losing you is like planting a single seed to feed a million)
Losing you feels like a life long battle
(Losing you feels like an initiation to become a warrior)
Losing you feels like the universe is void
(Losing you feels like you’re filling all the holes inside of me)
Losing you feels like a death of my own
Like I will never be the same
(Losing you feels like an opening
Like life has taken on new meaning)
Losing you (is gaining an angel)
Jul 2018 · 409
daylight will be new
Danny Wolf Jul 2018
day light will be new -
the way it will rise from the infinite night sky,
promising that i will see you.
that moon in a blue sky,
the reminder that what illuminates darkness
can never fade.
always, i will become full again.
the pain will wax and wane,
the tears will swell and pour out.
i will collect them in the deepest fallows of my heart
and my body will flood,
will shed,
will empty and become hollow.
from a void vast and powerful,
matter will slowly form again,
lie a single silver egg,
from it an entire universe of stars
and love will birth.
i will believe, still.
i will trust even when the pain torments each corner of my mind.
i will rise.
i will rise for your body that is weak and dis-eased.
i will form a new self,
one that will know daylight and darkness not as duality,
but forces of great mystery.
death, i will not fear you,
but honor you.
i will bow down and offer my prayers to your majesty.
Jun 2018 · 2.8k
Vision Quest
Danny Wolf Jun 2018
The Hanbleceya.
The cry for a vision.
The Vision Quest.
The space between worlds.
In the presence of the Great Mystery.
I went down to the fire,
and she, the self I aim to be,
was not there.
I became her.
And maybe just for that moment on my blanket because I needed to be her.
She is on the eternal quest.
Forever in search,
forever seeking.
That magic I was hoping for did not emerge in the way I believed it would...
I let instead the Earth, and only her,
hear my screams.
Hear some deep agony within me,
maybe not even completely of my own.
Maybe the ancestral pains of the women who carried lives before me.
Red is the road to my heart,
is the color that bled out of me on the way up.
Dripping prayers down my legs,
each step became even more sacred.
Together, we sang our warrior song.
They are my amor, my comfort, my shelter, my warmth.
But on your blanket in your circle of prayers,
there is only you and the Creator.
You and the Great Mystery.
You and your fears, your pains, your demons.
You and your truths, your reasons, your prayers.
It is your choice whether to feed to thirst and hunger in your head,
or the hunger in your soul.
There is no greater pain than a soul not enacting its purpose,
its duty, its agreement with the Divine.
No greater pain.
And those screams that emerged from me,
from depths vast and deep,
was everything I ever let block me.
When we are broken open,
when we cry that deep soul cry,
we are breaking to let love and truth in,
we are watering our gardens.
So what magic am I believing was not present?
A vision may have not been shown to me,
but the courage of a single moment was.
To decide to not shut my eyes,
but to pray.
To offer compassions back to the Earth and take less for myself.
To not **** a single mosquito,
but rather walk off that blanket four days later marked with their persistence.
I watched their points enter my flesh
and saw their bodies fill with my blood.
Maybe they were extracting from me all that I no longer need.
And what itch is worse?
That of a red bump,
or that of the soul's need to incessantly scratch through its flesh suit to get to the core of its truth?
There were hours upon hours I let myself fall silent.
Listened to the sound of the woodpecker,
watched the spider crawl,
saw the turkey run.
They know how to be at home here.
And it is nothing grand that they do,
but they understand their purpose and place and they do not strive to feed and ego.
They do not "Ease God Out."
They are of God,
they are a God of their own.
So how do I remove myself from all the ******* of this world
if I do not place my being into the womb of Creation and sit?
The layers strip down,
the sun rises and sets and does so again.
I began to know before the sky would lighten that the morning was coming soon just by the sounds of the forrest.
The great trees barely swayed and the Earth was uprooting.
What am I doing here?
The days were long and hard and filled with a frustrating buzzing in my ears.
Buzzing like all the nonsensical thoughts we have on a daily basis.
If only our ears would buzz and ring every time we had a thought that backtracked us from our truths
and the inherent love that is within our beings.
If only we had the persistence of the mosquito that does not,
will not stop until it is filled with the one nectar it was meant to live on.
There were moments of bliss and moments I felt anxiety bubble up within.
Such a rare form of myself,
a piece of me I do not know too well.
I wanted to crawl out of my skin and be gone.
Be wind, be ether, be smoke.
Be gone.
And then they came,
bearing compassion.
Just a single sip of water.
Just a little.
They handed me that cup and I just cried.
Cried from the depths of my being.
"Do I even deserve this?"
And I let some moments pass,
held that cup in my hands and prayed in the form of tears.
That water,
that precious gift bearing life,
it touched my lips and made its way into my being.
And all become calm.
I am here for a purpose,
on this blanket, I mean.
I am here and meant to be no where but here.
And gently they spoke of the 6 pointed white star flowers surrounding me.
Not to me,
but a message for me.
A reminder of the beauty all around,
if I would only just look.
There I was,
sitting upon the hands of Creation.
If I had just stopped to listen,
stopped to breathe,
maybe I would have understood that on my own.
But that is why we tie that red prayer hung to our Ancestors.
He said,
"that prayer is your reminder to come back."
So for the next 360 days until I sit upon my blanket again,
the only prayer is to remember what I learned on that Mountain.
To remember what a blessing it is to drink a sip of water,
to be alone,
to look not into the eyes of another,
but only see the beauty of Creation.
I went out there wanting to be silent.
To just listen to what the world had to speak to me,
to shut out the voice in my head,
but there were moments that I could not hold back the words and prayers from my throat,
moments I needed to send my voice up or else I swore I would get up off that blanket and just walk away.
Moments I swore I would have filled the Earth with my screams again.
And when I spoke,
it was with such softness.
Maybe to not disrupt the frequency that Mountain has known long before Creator ever chose that spot for me to pray.
Maybe because when I spoke I barely recognized my own voice.
Because when you speak to Creation,
it is the truest version of yourself whose voice rises up from the very depths of your soul.
This is the voice that Creator knows.
And I just need to say I'm sorry that if for any moment I used my voice not pray
or to talk myself back into my heart and out of my head.
I'm sorry if I wasted a single moment on that Mountain.
The minutes seem so long when you're out there,
but now as I'm back home,
I'm wishing I could have just a few moments back on my blanket.
That I could have just one more opportunity to pray.
I would say to the Creator my name,
I would say please help me because I am struggling.
Please help me because  just want to make the best out of my life.
Please help me because I want to make sure I am on the right path to my purpose.
Please help me because I never want to know a life without you,
without prayer, without this Red Road.
Just one more time I want to speak those truths and let my tears become offerings of myself to the Earth.
But that is why we tie that prayer in Red.
Because I can go back.
I will go back and again be given the holy space to send my voice up and pray,
to cry,
to fall into silence,
to watch the sun set and rise again.
And I can stop now and breath.
I can stop and close my eyes and be on my blanket.
I can smell the freshness of Earth and the copal cloud of smoke.
I can pray and cry with myself on that blanket,
because there is a piece of me that will always be there.
Jan 2018 · 426
Danny Wolf Jan 2018
This is bigger than oceans and destinies. Bigger than Universes, bigger than pain and bigger than love. How to put freedom into words? How do you watch the bird that escapes its cage and not shed a tear for humanity and those with broken hearts? This feels like the shadow of the Universe while the Sun is preparing to implode on itself and shutter the world into black. He does not even contemplate the greatest Death we will ever know. This is fate - beyond His temporary duty, beyond the importance to sustain life. I am neither a speck nor a wave - not nearly a body. Yet, I feel this tearing in my lungs - this desire to gasp for yet another breath. Please, let me hold on to the infinitesimal space I occupy for just a little bit longer. I become so fragile and raw when I look up at the sky. I see those stars and think about how they've never yearned for another - how they've known their place in this infinity since the beginning of time. If I stood on a star would I even be contemplating the way the Universe works? Would the question “why?” even cross my mind? And would I even think to try and put words to the mystery occurring in front of me? If I were a galaxy, my stars would span across forever - expand out into the omnipresent blackness and fall upon the head of every being each night to remind them of their divinity. Just by the glow of the Moon I should know I am safe and accounted for in this life. She looks down upon us, providing the holy light of lovers when she is full. The rivers of life within my body wax and wane with her, yet I question my roll in the divine? Her holy union with the Sun, so commendable. To never touch the one you love the most – to be light years apart, yet to still work in the perfect cosmic alliance. That is a union I admire.
Feb 2017 · 975
Ode To My Baba Yaga
Danny Wolf Feb 2017
She burns the hottest fire.
She is no prisoner to walls-
she will tear and rip right through the dead layers of casted skin.
She will untangle the bones
that lie in a pile of cob webs and dust.
She will dance with the spider itself-
together they will weave the most beautiful web.
Here she will stop her prey dead in its tracks.
She will swallow the fearful,
the weak,
and the lost.
They will rest in her womb and rebirth divine.
She will straighten out the ******* her knees
that is begging for something to hold onto to.
Hold up yourself.
She fed me the drinks
and laid my body on the heat.
She oozed from my flesh-
Said, child, you're the one who drank the poison and prayed for the ruin of your body.
She is the souls of my feet
reminding me to soak in the ground
and get into the blood of Mother-
get in deep and cleanse yourself.
She wears the black
and sings with a voice that cracks the sky wide open.
In rush the angels of night and death.
She carries the world,
she is older than stardust.
She looks at me with those ****** eyes
and shakes her head that I believe I am even the least bit wise.
Her visits are humbling,
leave me shaking.
Wake up.
Smell the raw Earth
and remember you are thousands of years in the making.

She visits to bury the next bone deep within my mind-
forcing me into tight corners
and down dark hallways with no directions.
You know how to navigate yourself.
The bones like keys,
and when I dig deep for them,
oh, how they open passageways.
Feb 2017 · 630
Sitting By The Water
Danny Wolf Feb 2017
Through the silk screen window
he sees her sitting under the morning sunshine.
He's not sure if she came from the stars or
if she will return into the water-
is she even real?
But what he really wants to know is why she's there...
There is nothing new about today to him,
to hands old and overworked.
Nothing new to him about the well worn path of branches fallen and sun dried leaves,
her footsteps are soft and will soon become a memory-
the skin on her soles tender from home.
He has seen the sun rise many days,
watched as the space in his backyard accumulated.
He resonates more with sunset now.
She is still trying to learn how to be that sunrise
and to shine like the glistening reflection of the light
on the warm gulf waters.
The smell of morning Earth is still new to her here,
an aroma he no longer notices flowing effortlessly through the backdoor.
The butterflies and wind carry the spirit of her Grandfather -
she has never felt him quite like this before.
With arms raised and eyes closed
she knows the only thing that feels right to do
in this moment is pray.
And now she knows,
she knows the waters and they know her,
she knows her angel is ever so close.
Yet he has absolutely no idea
that his photograph of her
sitting by the water
captures all of this.
Dec 2016 · 904
Tending to the Bones
Danny Wolf Dec 2016
My bones, my bones-
the keepers of my soul,
in tending to you
I am singing a song so old.
Older than Oak,
older than the stories carved in
the walls of caves,
older than the Grandfather stones.
I sing the song that formed the Universe,
that brought eternal warmth to the sunshine,
that shook the Earth with such power,
she created mountains.
This song lives in the river beneath the river,
in the first beat of a heart,
in the world of dreams not
yet dreamt.
This is the song of the Goddesses
and the Warriors.
This song is what the wolves hear
when they are howling at full moon.
This is the song that heals,
that mends the broken heart,
that makes the motionless and tired body dance,
that lets the soul avow its truth.
This is the song that creates undying love.
I heard this song first,
not when life was sweet like the nectar of flowers,
but when my bones were shattered
like a star dying in the cosmos;
when everything I had ever known
burned to dust in the palms of my hands.
I sang this song first
when I had no choice
but to begin piecing myself back together again.
Nov 2016 · 1.1k
Danny Wolf Nov 2016
I saw red
the first day womanhood
ever spoke from my ****** womb.
I saw red
seeping through the burns on my chest
that made me love myself again.
Red were the eyes of life
that gazed at me as I breathed my prayers into a bundle of white sage.
Red was the moon
to which the wolf howled,
asking to be born again.
I saw red
when a gust of wind lifted the fire's flame
to kiss my face.
I saw red
before I ever loved a man.
Red is the Road I walk
to reach my Creator.
I saw red
in the glow of the whispering Grandfather stones.
Red was the life in which I birthed
when I decided fear
was no longer going to be a part of my nature.
I saw red
dance with the spirit of the Hawk
on the days I spent alone with Creator.
I see red every month now,
red the color of letting go,
deep red,
crimson red.
Red that is strong and wise,
red that is in every woman.
I saw red
pulling heads off of roses,
only to reveal how they bleed all the way to the center.
I saw red
painted on my body
the night I danced to meet the Mother Earth.
I saw red petals
carrying prayers across the ocean.
I saw red in the horizon,
in the space between worlds.
I saw red in times of both love and pain,
and I will see red
for the rest of my days.
I will bleed red,
and know that in just one single drop,
I am all of life,
and all of death the same.
Oct 2016 · 381
Pricking Petals
Danny Wolf Oct 2016
The petals radiate.
Her tender fingers brush against
malicious shape-shifting daisies.
Yellow sunshine turns to blades
slowly painted over, blood red
like the fire burning up her heart.
She dies with the petals,
color fades from her eyes,
her limbs blacken and crumble,
recoil to the center.
Ashes float to the ground
dropping specks of her existence
across the flowered field.
Sweet song breeze,
warm like the voice of sunshine,
Sweeps her up mystically
into the pale blue and cloudless sky,
Carries all she's ever dreamed
across a million cosmic miles,
Reviving her into a
star-drenched lover's wish sky.
Oct 2016 · 1.9k
Red Clay House
Danny Wolf Oct 2016
I've reached the house that once was a speck
within thick layers of a forrest no longer visited.
Its red clay walls were cracked and crumbling,
ready to become a pile of dust and ash-
remnants of a place ignored and long forgotten.
The roof was caving,
tiles missing or rank with mildew,
and consumed by tiny holes that let flashes of sunlight break through.
The foundation of this red clay house
was weak and tired,
barely able to support the deteriorating red clay walls.
A cobblestone pathway,
walked upon daily many moons ago,
led me to the door.
Of all the decay and ruin that plagued the red clay house,
the door remained firm,
and the lock thick and strong.
It's been long since entered.
Such a strange little key hole,
such a foreign yet familiar place.
I circled, circled, circled
the red clay house,
searching for the key,
or any way in.
So barren the space around the red house,
just dirt and little pieces of fallen clay.
Not a place to hide the key,
not a crack big enough to enter.
I went to my knees, and prayed for an answer,
     I knew this was my home.
Tears fell from my eyes
as I pleaded for my life.
They hit the sweet Earth,
and I watched a miracle occur.
Where my prayers had fallen,
I found the answer.
A pool of wet red clay had formed of my tears and Earth.
I took the hands which have shaped my life,
and dug them deep inside.
I carried that red clay to my home,
and began repaving the cracks in the wall,
carefully examining the damages,
finding the causes,
and forgiving myself for all the years I spent without a single visit.
The cracks take long to repair,
consistent care,
touching directly the spaces that hurt.
From the foundation, to rooftop I work and work,
watch the house reshape day by day.
I must fall to my knees and pray for the answers,
let my tears fall to the Earth
and create medicine.
Everywhere I step now,
flowers sprout from the ground,
vibrant colors shining in the sun,
I water them daily,
the work is never done.
I am still reaching my hands in pools of red clay,
and paving the cracks that will always
find their way up from the depths.
I have unlocked the front door,
found the key under my tongue
the day I prayed to be let in.
Oh, how the light shined so bright inside,
not through tiny cracks in the roof,
or cracks in the walls of red clay,
but in my hands
when I stepped through that door.
The hands that paved the cracks,
the hands that reached up to the Sky
and asked for rain
on the days that my tears could not create enough clay
to fix the cracks that threatened to tear down
all the work I had done.
The hands that replant the seeds after a harsh winter,
and unlocked that front door.
The hands scarred and callused
that will never stop paving the cracks.
These cracks are no longer ominous,
no longer chooser of my homes destiny,
for when the home is found,
it can not be forgotten,
and when the door is opened,
it can not be locked again.
Sep 2016 · 357
Danny Wolf Sep 2016
Dark of night ignites moonlight.
Ancient self awakened.
New eyes peer into the vast and open.
Nature is alive and dancing,
Yet my mind is silent and still.
Words have escaped me,
Only instinct remains.
Like breathing for the first time,
Forever I am changed.
So this is inspired by the first vision I had of becoming a wolf-it was seamless, hence "Danny Wolf" .. from this body into spirit animal, without anything in between.
Sep 2016 · 147
The Lessons of My Father
Danny Wolf Sep 2016
I want to honor all the lessons of my father.

Thank you for teaching me to work hard,
for it is when we put our full effort and heart into everything we do
that we reap the rewards.
Thank you for teaching me to be honest,
for it is when we honor our words and actions
that consequences and troubles are avoided.
Thank you for teaching me that I must always forgive,
for it is when we show love to those who have hurt us,
we feel whole in our hearts.
Thank you for always being silly,
for it is when we stay light in our hearts
that the troubles of life seem insignificant.
Thank you for always protecting me,
for it is when we show the utmost care and concern for others,
that they are reminded of their importance to us.
Thank you for showing me that
actions speak louder than words,
for it is through our actions that the truth of our heart shines through.

Jun 2016 · 554
When Tomorrow Comes
Danny Wolf Jun 2016
The morning will be plagued by slow ripples from today.
The taste of regret and shame will coat my tongue,
and I won't want to look in the mirror.
I won't want to see my enemy,
and I won't want to face my conscience.
"Today will be the day,"
I will tell myself…
And I will want so badly to believe it,
but every cell in my body will remind me of
all the times those words have left my mouth
in days past,
and never followed through.
The frustration is an overwhelming cloud that is thick around my body.
I feel heavy and sedated by my own actions.
I feel weak and at a loss for control.
I am scared to be writing this because I know the power of thoughts and of words,
But I know no other way to heal than to release my life onto paper.
I can not look myself in the face and tell lies-
So although this rips me apart to put onto a page,
I must honor myself for speaking the truth,
even when it's ugly and hurts.
I will wake up tomorrow and tell myself,
"Today will be the day," because maybe,
tomorrow it really will be.
I will wake up tomorrow and brush my teeth clean of the past,
spit out regret and shame and wash it away.
I will pray for health and help and healing.
I will humbly say Thank You to the Great Spirit for my life.
I will remember the days I couldn't get out of bed,
and I will rise for those moments.
I will stand tall and look at myself in the mirror and say,
"I love you and you are beautiful," until I believe it.
I will let the tears run down my cheeks until the veins in my body feel dry,
And I won't wipe them.
I won't hide behind words that tell a story different from my own.
I will walk this road,
So give me lightening and give me rain,
that way I will learn to walk with grace and strength,
but I ask please, Great Spirit,
still let the sunshine kiss my face,
and relieve me from any pain.
Please have mercy on my soul,
and be my guiding hand
as I find my way home.

Apr 2016 · 2.6k
Danny Wolf Apr 2016
I have faith in surrounding myself
with things that are pure.
I have faith in the Earth,
and in the January sunshine to warm bones.
I have faith in movement
and in stillness,
in voices and in silence.
I have faith in forgiveness
the same way i have faith that the sun will rise again,
although it will always be raining somewhere.
I have faith in putting good into my body
and I have faith in awareness.
I have faith in the mind
and its ability to overcome.
I have faith in healing
and in energy,
I have faith in breathing,
and so I must have faith in life.
I have faith in sleep and in dreams
and in renewal.
I have faith in change
and in intuition.
I have faith in my eyes
to feel the truth.
I have faith in love,
and I have faith in myself.
I have faith in myself
to proclaim self love is possible.
I have faith that I am in the right place-
right now and always.
I have faith in letting go
the way I have faith that the leaves will return in the Spring time.
I have faith in the light
and in meditation,
     sweet surrender to the energy.
I have faith in kindness
and in imagination.
I have faith in the honesty of a smile.
I have faith in questions,
     but I'm still not asking.
I have faith in today
and in tomorrow.
I have faith in the Universe
and I have faith that I have exactly what I need.
I have faith in this human experience of life,
and all those to come.
And I have faith
that this faith
will never end.

Apr 2016 · 338
Danny Wolf Apr 2016
My body was a battle ground,
a place where hate and war were welcomed
with every breath.
My body was a prison,
chaining my mind to be confined
to the space in which my skin shaped.
My body was a trash can,
filled with foul fragments of thoughts
that needed to be discarded.
My body was a reason,
     a reason I believed I was not loved,
     a reason I believed I was not enough,
     a reason I used to create an enemy.
My body is scarred,
my body still holds pain,
but my body has proved my mind wrong
again and again.
My body has healed,
my body still breathes,
my body has taught my mind
to believe in its divinity.
I am my body,
and my body is love.

Apr 2016 · 288
Down the River
Danny Wolf Apr 2016
Down the river
in the mirror of nature;
Down the river
the flow will take you;
Down the river
is always and forever;
Down the river,
the water will cleanse you;
Down the river
you'll find the truth-
you'll find the truth
in your voice,
you'll find the truth
in letting go,
you'll find the truth
Down the river
when you realize you are
the river's flow.

Apr 2016 · 269
Danny Wolf Apr 2016
Today I rise,
from my smoke clouded mind,
I rise.
From the ambers of the fire,
I will rise.
The tears are here to clear out
the ashes from my eyes.
I will rise-
see clear into the daylight,
I will rise.
I am the fire,
I am the light,
From the darkness I emerged,
I will rise from this
I will rise.

Feb 2016 · 433
Danny Wolf Feb 2016
I have bones in my soul,
Bones that I hold,
Bones that I just want to pick clean of the sadness,
The weakness rooted deep from years of mistreat.
Please surface-
Let me release you,
Let me let you go.
Trust me,
You don't want to be trapped either,
Life is too beautiful on the outside to live within the walls of your mind.
You can find a new home,
A place to rest your fresh bones,
White like the moonlight,
White like the truth of release.
Danny Wolf Dec 2015
Skin once torn and charred
is skin now senseless,
no longer stinging with sorry
and sorrow.
From the absence
I found presence-
it was the only way.
When the body is
a painful prison,
the mind must
manifest solace.
Must silence mom’s
anguish, and speak
for dad’s silence.
Pain is a sense
I’ve perfected-
No longer exists
when breath is focus.
From the absence,
I found presence-
it was the only way.
Sep 2015 · 414
The Contender
Danny Wolf Sep 2015
There's a steel cage match
in my mind
between who I am
and who I want to be.
I watch with eyes of a bystander,
watch as the conflicts of my mind
become intertwined in fragile fists.
In the dark corner roams the Contender,
resting quietly in the back of
the thoughts.
You can hear the breathing,
feel the presence,
feel like the victim
come to the territory
of the enemy.
And I know,
I know it is is me-
     the Contender in the dark corner,
     it's just like looking in a mirror.
     I see the fear and fight in her eyes,
     she means no harm,
     she's just trying to figure out how to be free.
Across the ring
glows who she wants to be.
The soul,
the light into which
her thoughts are punching holes-
     darkness destroying in confusion.
Fists hit her cheeks
as she spits up mouthfuls of words
she should have never said to herself.
She's just trying to survive
the battle of her mind,
trying to absorb the blows
the way the Light does,
so that every fist the contender
drives deep
is flooded back with light
as soon as the fist leaves.
She will not be
The Light
She is greater than her contender.
Danny Wolf Sep 2015
The strength in which you created to bare us,
became the strength in which you need to bare us.
No book could've prepared you
for the disappointments,
the nights we don't come home,
for a hysterical rush of tears,
bullets straight into your shoulder.
Torn apart in ways more than one,
you never even saw it coming.
We are your blind spots;
the cause of constant and unspoken worry.
No longer possessing innocence,
but still demanding your blind trust.
We're sorry we never call,
and for growing up too fast.
But I promise, we're okay,
and you've done a perfect job.

I think I finally understand why you'll always love us.
Sep 2015 · 736
Absolving the Shadows
Danny Wolf Sep 2015
I am not the darkness any longer,
The cold decay of innocence
slinking through the wet,
underground chambers of my mind.

I am not the darkness any longer,
The neglected growl of a knotted,
toxic stomach begging for a wounded core
to attempt and nourish me to life.

I am not the darkness any longer,
The silence of a blackened morning,
Clouded from memory
and witnessed through glass eyes.

I am not the darkness any longer.
I am the rebirth of a black hole,
The equal manifestation in opposite form,
I am the light.

I am the light,
The infinite expansion of a single breath
That ripples through the air.

I am the light,
The ocean-mirrored sunrise
in hues of lucid brilliance radiating
into a morning sky.

I am the light,
The liberated soul of serenity
released into the freedom
of a vast and open world.

I am the light,
the luminescence
that’s been held captive to delusion,
finally absolved from the shadows.

I have always been the light.
Sep 2015 · 293
Be Water
Danny Wolf Sep 2015
I wonder if he sees me,
the boy across the river,
finding himself
in throwing stones into the water.
He is the split-second hole,
the brief emptiness
where all calmness
floods into,
where silent ripples return.

I followed my heart,
and it led me to
a calm and reflective mystery,
never been here,
but I still know I'm home.


To be water is to be all accepting. To let all and everything come and go as it pleases, always returning to calmness and serenity. To be water is to be reflective. All and everything is within us. We must see and accept all parts of the universe for what they are. And although calm, although at peace, we must always be open and absorbing the cadence of the universe in our infinite ripples of breath. As long as we are breathing, we are connected to and affecting the universe. Every time we breathe, we inhale 1.28 molecules of Julius Caesar's last breath. You have breathed all and every living being on this entire planet, enemy or friend. Every breath has a lasting impression, like every ripple, every wave. So we must be water, and let every breath out as a ripple moving calmly through its path, finding its natural place in the universe.
Apr 2015 · 512
I Hope She Lives
Danny Wolf Apr 2015
I wonder,
if Mother Earth could commit suicide,
would she?
Slice herself open,
spill oceans into the atmosphere,
dry up and disintegrate
into great
Would she
to end her daily suffering?
Or would she
to withstand
the exploitation,
the ****,
the injustice?
Prove herself
stronger than us?
Would she
to outlive
her abusers?
Prove them
and feeble?
Let them
as victims
to their own destruction?

I hope she lives.
Mar 2015 · 497
Cutting Through
Danny Wolf Mar 2015
i had to swallow an accumulation of cursed words
choking my throat
the first night i ever saw you cry.
luckily i had your tears
and a bottle of wine
to help wash down the knives.

i remember the way your soul died
and how your arms were child-sized.

it was the first time you told me you were

i should’ve ripped the air with
“**** yous” to God
“i believes” to the devil
but they’d already been ingested.

working with precision,
sterilized tools

carving scars in stomach lining,

words are hands of doctors
words are cutting through me
doctors through my Grandmother,
your Mother,

e x t r a c t i n g  the  c a n c e r

carving scars in stomach lining,

yet all the while She’s saying,
“help them” to God
“stay away” to the devil.
Mar 2015 · 461
Hotel beds (pt. 2)
Danny Wolf Mar 2015
Morning rises over Philadelphia
and cracks the sky;
untangles legs once intertwined.
Sun beams pierce through the window,
Revealing two bodies withdrawn to distant sides
of the hotel bed,

The night spent chest to chest
will forever be kept in the dark.
Mar 2015 · 583
The Lysergic Haikus
Danny Wolf Mar 2015
Drowned in sensory.
Internal explosions bring
the first breath of life.


Transitory world.
Realms warping, realms vibrating,
encased inside mind.


The wall is shattered.
You: transcending, flourishing.
Break free from axis.


Blueprints mapped in stars.
Secrets of the intrepid
rush in.


“This is existence.”
The cosmos engulf you in  
esoteric truth.


Electric surges
deaden all concept of time.  
“You’re immortal here.”


The universe speaks,
Your body is listening,
This is life’s essence.


You begin return
to physical world with eyes
of new perspective.
Mar 2015 · 4.3k
Hotel beds
Danny Wolf Mar 2015
Warm breath lingers under sheets,
hugs gentle
and whispers,
"I'm sorry."
I lay here now
within the fine line boundaries of this love
and a piece of me must mourn for what may never be.
But I have found there is more truth to this holding
as it speaks for all the words that have gone unspoken,
all the unanswered questions.
I breathed you in deep,
awake to remember your skin.
Intertwined in ways more than just the extremities of our Earlthy bodies,
my soul is at ease knowing a piece of you
will always be held within a piece of me.
Mar 2015 · 353
Danny Wolf Mar 2015
is deadened,
save lashing wind.
stings last
like bad memories.
trees snap,
follow surrendered leaves
to cold ground
to be overlooked
as additions of
wet color
to pavement.
has receded
to a nameless
clot of ice in
blackened sky.
suffocating core
kills vessel
from inside out.
left corpse,
left massive.
black holes
are cosmic funerals.
of life
stretched thin,
till gone,
Mar 2015 · 843
Danny Wolf Mar 2015
We walk the streets
paving the concrete with our tongues,
Spitting at the world,
Blackened feet
meet the ground
that meets the backdrop
of a blackened skyline
somewhere unknown to us.
Vision blocked by concrete structures,
and fences forbidding further footsteps.
Links on a chain
used to tug at the throat of a rebel,
Show us how it hurts
So it's not our neck at their jeopardy next.
But we're already suffocating.
Down the mouths
of kids with sharpened teeth
is a number two pencil,
Bubbling in their throat
with the proper words to say.
Limits placed on choices,
Left with no choice but to conform.
We are the graphite circling off the pencil,
Structured between the lines.
Fill in, fit it.
Directions say,
"Make sure it's perfect."
God forbid a cog in the social machine
that spits out toothpicks
we call perfection.
Lines single-file -
Filed off the imperfections.
Sharp and refined,
It's all a process-
Refined and processed-
The American way to fill yourself:
Burgers and fries,
Tabloid lies-
Let's see how long we can last
on a diet praising fake life.
Mar 2015 · 464
Black Eyed Susan's
Danny Wolf Mar 2015
The space between her ears
is the most beautiful part of her body,
Holding on to all she's ever experienced
as tight as she can.

Eyes that extract the beauty
in all things dark and true.
Moving through mindless crowds
with fluidity of liquid honey,
Smooth like a Earl Gray.

Sometimes I wonder
if she knows her heart is beating,
Pumping secretions of love lost into her mind...
     the most beautiful part of her body.

I felt the love pour out of her hands,
Slowly giving the worlds energy to me.

She's a rainstorm in August
when the suns scorches too hot,
And the first tree you see turn bleeding red and orange
at the breath of morning Fall.

She won't speak without intention,
every word is precious.
The black-eyed Susan's we'd pick as children
remind me of her soul.

If only she knew
the flower as herself:
Divine madness stirring within,
seeping light back into the deadened world.
This ones for my sister…
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