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Jan 2014
I was raised
on the ways of
the Wolf.
I applied these ways
to the best of
my ability.
Only to be set
loose to live amongst
the sheep.
my ways were
considered savage
and unreasonable.

I turned to
the Poppy
and the *****.
I was insearch
of a temporary
sanctuary from
theΒ Β past misdeeds
inside my head.

Only at a later
age did I come
to understand
these wounds
that still
bleed leave
trails full of
wasted years,
lost lovers and
and dreams.

I counted the
Black and Whites
as they passed
me by.
I tried to
melt into the
The vigilance
and anger in
my heart refused
to walk amongst
the live stock.
For I was raised
as one with
brother Wolf.
I needed to
run on the outside
of their
invisible bindings.

I died everyday
for 3 years .
I pulled
from the *****
then turned to
the poem and
a new way
to torture
myΒ Β mind while
healing the heart.

I dropped
the mask I
had wore
for so many
of these

I set about
revealing hearts
blood and fractured
I ripped the
inside of
me out and
presented it
as treasure.
Only to find
the masses
are indeed
too much
like sheep.
understanding the
manners of
the wolf....
A B Perales
Written by
A B Perales  San Pedro Ca.
(San Pedro Ca.)   
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