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In the howling waste even the darkness has a voice. It taunts and beckons, it begs, and calls. It slithers it's way into your thoughts and if you listen to it you may be lost within. You'll never see the light again.
Michael Robert Triska copyright 2017
The wind was a horror script
howling, thrilling
its symphony was met
with fearful eyes
hers, an encyclopedia
his, a rubik's cube
Sammy Durrant Sep 2016
22.
Imagine me just howling
   That's how my heart feels
   But pulling me forward
Emma Lee Jun 2016
You knocked quietly, yelled loudly. Sometimes I can't tell the difference. You come in with fangs out ready to pounce. Little do you ever come for a plesent conversation. But Usually just to mark my walls with your claws again. Your voice is growling and your laugh is a long snarl, one that I can not unhear. The roof shakes at the vibrations of your foot steps. Thump, clatter. Thump, shake. Thump whimper. You circle me with your words, like pray, making me trip and stumble. That is how you win, isn't in? Make your opponent smaller then you feel inside?  
You're a slob , you say.
Good for nothing, you yell.
Why are you always alone? You ask.
Why ask when you know? Why make the memory of your words and the feeling of your fists brighter and deeper in my mind? Oh that's write this isn't pleasant talk. You are here to win. To mark me with a stamp saying that I am nothing.
But as I stood up surrounded by nothingness and darkness, I had to remind myself that i am a human. Flesh and bone. A real person. One with a destiny, thoughts and feelings. Not one less important then the other.
I am not little red riding hood who hid under hoods while being consumed by ugly things disguised as familiar.
I am not Bell who did something she swore she would never do; she settled for someone she did not love.
I am the lady of the lake.
I am the tree that fell in the forest and dared to make a noise.
I well not be locked in towers by men afraid of fire.
I well not stay away from the sea and sun and fly in the same air I have always breathed.
I am more, and I am bigger on the inside then you feel on the outside
Angie S May 2016
i’m always Howling for more out of life. (these secret thoughts
never leave the ends of my lips but now flow from the
end of my pencil so smoothly)
i’m Howling for more time in the day because i can’t
grasp enough of it to satisfy the blank pages in my journals
and my sketchbooks and my sheet music but i must always accommodate
for my shortcomings in math class
i’m Howling for a wink of sleep and i worry sometimes
that my thoughts are as jumbled up in my writing as in my mind
because i deny them rest
i’m Howling for love seriously all kinds of it
unfiltered and clumsy first date love
or subtle and persistent friendship
or the comfort of a tightly-knit family i'm serious
i’m Howling for something real
you see all my days have begun to smear into indistinguishable hues
all the beautiful flowers bloom the same and wilt the same
there’s nothing different; i’m Howling for a change of pace.
something exciting, something peaceful.
something relaxing, something enthralling.
something normal and spontaneous, confined by
nobody and always Howling for more
i wrote this piece for my creative writing class back in March and revised it for my final portfolio... and i really like it actually. it's different
Her
It's not unaware to me that I am not the air you would like to breathe. My atmosphere is too heavy, too overwhelming. Hers is as light as the snowflakes intertwined with her hair. She's an object of attraction, while my features are outweighed by my abyss of a soul. You can not own me, like you want to possess her. Her vessel is purely physical, mine is as solid as the howling wind. My air is pressurizing. Her air is enough to breathe safely.
Taylor Shelton Mar 2016
I've got no family
I've got no good friends there for me
Only people who feel sorry
What am I supposed to do when I'm in pain
Howling and muttering in shame
I am so tired
All I want to do is fall
But I don't know if I'll have the strength to pick myself up
Sure I have their support but at the end of the day
But I'm their problem
I want to be their family
A person they would die for and not only for the attention
Guess I've got myself but then again
I only care about myself to not to be noticed
Joyce Jan 2016
Writing with inspiration.
My words are flowing.
Like the wind is howling.
Ice cold blue sky.
Snowflakes floating by.
Slowly ice melting.
Like a tree with autumn leaves.
Swirling and twirling around.
Leaving colors of paint
on forrest ground.
Hear chestnuts falling
on crispering leaves.
Love this beautiful
nature sound.
Words will come as they come.
Like seasons they shift.
Bringing each their own gift.
Snow and cold.
Leaves so colorful.
Flowers will blossom.
Hot sun and beach walking.
Inspire and embrace life
in all of your days.
Give some love on this
beautiful place.
Thomas Conlan Dec 2015
The sun sets sweetly as the sky steadily rolls in with clouds, while the weary wolf wanders where he can welcome his midnight maiden.

And as the twilight turns to night, this sorry sounding soul searches for a piece of serenity. The night brings out the wild in his heart and he howls haunting hymns towards the Welkins.

His crying pierces through the silence and he is welcomed by a satellite of light, shining softly through the dark. This wolf does not search for love and affection, because he is never without it. Each shout is simply serenades to the one being who will always welcome him warmly.

His songs are sometimes sweet, his songs are often sad. For the wolf howls to the night sky to beckon the moon to love him. She is his constant, his one true friend, and he will sing her serenity as she is the only soul that sings to his.
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