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I smell the wild on you.
How the snow is caked in your fur.
When the night falls, what does
It offer besides survival.
And the means to be something
besides human.
We're stuck here somewhere where
The earth has broken.
And the cold envelopes everything it
Touches.
You stand there in the snow
Teeth bared.
Not afraid to go at it once more.
I've grown tired, so very tired.
Your eyes burn the snow.
That fierce longing to stay alive.
What else does the night offer,
We've consumed pretty much
everything else except each other.
And I am tired of fighting.
Nothing pretty survives out here alone,
In the dark.
Together, you and I nestled in each other's warm.
When hunger subsides.
We'll find it in each other
In the moonlight, she looked almost blue;
the silver of her hair, glowing-
the white of her smile, gleaming-
the amber of her eyes, burning.

In the moonlight, I thought I saw her shiver;
in the pale skin, a twitch-
in the lithe limbs, a tensing-
in the hot breath, a stutter.

In the moonlight, I met my death;
through her sharp teeth, biting-
through her long nails, rending-
through her rough tongue, savoring.

In the moonlight, she howled proud;
in the thin back, an arch-
in the wry bellow, a glee-
in the bleeding drops, my soul.
September 18th, 2024
MetaVerse Sep 19
Little Bo Peep
Has lost her sheep.
The big bad wolf is full
And sleeping on a bed of wool.
Spent half my life immersed
In starlight...
Outside the windows
Of my room....

Was raised to think
Everything was alright...
But I found out the truth
Much too soon!

Oh,  howl, howl,
Howl at the moon!

Oh, watch the midnight
Blue,  and feel the
Lights surrounding you!
And never wonder if
You'll ever be afraid!

Oh, howl, howl,
Howl at the moon!

We find out our truths much too soon...

Oh, bring me a bottle ,
To bury my worries!
Oh, load me a pipe,

And I'll tell you a story.

A story, a story,
A terrible story,
My life for a story,
Of honor and glory.

Oh, howl, howl, howl,
At the moon!

Either drunk or
Hungover, or waking
Up Blue,

We'll fight till it's over,
Till battle is through;
Till we're beaten and Bloodied,

And covered in mud,

And we march home while
Weary, and spotted with
Blood.

Oh, howl, howl, howl,
At the moon!
A poem that I wrote for some friends of mine in Ukraine and Russia who don't want to fight, but are forced to.
They love the personification of the wolf, and so I made it my job to show people how they feel.
Jeremy Betts Jun 22
Sometimes I think it would be easier
To just give in and be the monster
The one they claim I already am
Just go ahead and put wolves clothing on a lamb
Then that way they can say "I told you so"
And I will play it off like, "I know, I know"

©2024
His eyes are piercing as a Hazel Wolf
I want him to take me as a piece of meat
The slumber of times seen around
Knows its inevitable I’d be seen only
Taken only lost in love
I’m not hand maiden
The summer comes too hot
To where it’s not cold it’s not
For nights I feel congested and seized
I wish choked by dear love
To ease not away
By the grips of his claws
But gently clipped at the tips
Of his paws
For this to me the sweetest thee
I call the wild a mercy ****
And by whom to let go
By power and will
No longer haunted nor hunted
By dumb foes to spill
To bathe in their blood
The meanest of ***
The meatiest and purest
Upon God who let I know this
Not damnation but graduation
Our love a furriest fury of fire
Condensation
A burning love desire
No one knows
What time and told
My dearest wolf
Attacked them bold
i suffer through restless nights
sleeping upright, feeling uptight
i dig my nails into the bedside
casting curses into the twilight
you might then find me among those fools
who walk the streets between dog and wolf
but there are devils in the detail
sprites that hide between the cracks
i pour over concrete slabs to find
their bright eyes peering back
and if i find them we might speak
and if we speak we might agree
they might agree to let me sleep
and i might let my demons be
Cné Apr 18
Shhhhh …. A world awakes
As colors burst forth, like celestial flares
Blues cascade down, like shimmering streams
Greens and oranges dance, in neon dreams

Amidst this kaleidoscope, a wise gaze meets
Owl eyes, piercing bright, with secrets to keep
Feathers etched sharp, like whispers in the night
A beak that holds the mysteries of delight

A guardian of the forest, a wolf's presence roams
Perched astute, where ancient secrets call home
Two birds take flight, on wings of wind and grace
As the owl watches over, with a gentle, knowing face

In this symphony of color and light
brushstrokes weave a tale, of wonder and sight
A world of magic, where creatures roam free
A testament to the beauty, that's born from painted creativity
An artist statement written for one of my paintings.
Ander Stone Apr 10
Sheep don't know
The meaning of the word
Rules.

They know only the barking of the dog
And the howl of the wolf.
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