Wolves hide among the fragrant flowers
Skulk, stalk, pounce, and bite into their prey
Bloody their maws, their canine, their fang
Don the fleece of the white sheep
Rip out the innards
Garbed in white
Draped like a cloak of purity

Wolves hide in cathedrals
Stalk among the pews
Furs streaked with blood, coated
Defile sanctity
Virginity with something vile
Dark, putrid, and false

She sees the wolf in you
Hears it in words that you utter
Sees it in words that you write
Drunk, sober, aware, unaware
Smells the blood on your maw
Smells the pennies in your breath
Faint, odorous

Wolves like you
Hiding in fleece

This came as a direct result of something I experienced last night. It shook me internally to my core and the culmination of those words, the emotions that stirred up as a result, culminated in this piece.

The wolf is Man. Not every man. It can be a singular man for a woman or even a man or anyone, you can change the gender of the "she" to whomever you like. The wolf remains the same. The "fleece" is a covering, a disguise, a shroud of "purity" and deceit that it/He disguises himself in.

The "cathedral" is a place of reverence and worship. I took the age-old adage of "your body is a temple" and turned it into something more historically significant and possibly controversial (for those of us who are iffy on religion. I am actually, but I respect those are who spiritual and religious. I respect their beliefs and stances). The cathedral is Woman's body. It is seen as a place that can be tarnished or worshiped within. It can be ransacked and defiled or vandalized.

IN any case, the poem has its themes of purity and Sin. There aren't many religious undertones here. It's just the slimy and even disturbing feelings a man can conjure up with words. It defines what a woman may experience when she's even revered by someone that presents themselves in one way but is truthfully like a majority of "wolves" out there. They're there for blood and prey.
Aishah 5d

I am the moon

I unleash
the lone wolf in you
I bring out
the madness in you

When the night
sneaks in
and the darkness
consume you
you would look up to me
and you would smile
knowing I am
the only one
who could set
your true self

call me luna

Who am i to fly you to the sun,
Where the stars sit and watch us burn?
Who am i to take you to the sea,
Where leviathan is supremacy?

Where else can i make your home,
A place where angels and demons roam?
Where can we find a safe hole-
A place to hide your precious soul?

Sometimes we can hear the ocean calling,
Sometimes its a still small voice whispering,
The voice Dear VIRGINIA heard- yes the troll,
We'll forever miss her- oh bless her soul;

What will the departed say of u and i?
Will they receive us in the sky?
What will we see when look the devil in the eye,
Will it be hate, compassion, remorse or a battle cry?

Shall we see the pentagram when the sun king is born?
Will there be hope for the broken and the torn?
Will we hold hands and dance in the vineyard of Jezebel?
The vineyard which Naboth refused to sell.

What if we just sit beneath the stars tonight,
And watch our enemies burn in their fight?
And ask the moon to shine very bright,
So that none would be out of sight?

The world is in so much terror,
Anguish of a unending labour,
Children of perdition is all she brings forth,
Many without substance, without worth:

Gather your friends as we cross the red sea,
Let all those who say we can't, stand and see;
The sun and her friends shall stand still,
While we fulfill our hearts utmost will.

I was louder once.
A beast with a need to feast,
but now I tamp my rampages.
One too many times I leapt
Over and through the fire
Bounding and barreling
Obnoxiously snarling as I caught
my dreams between my jaws and ripped,
To find their warmth evaporating,
my kill growing cold and sticky
as it would dribble and dry,
sweet and cracked down my breast and forearms.
I learned to pace. To release. To settle.
Not to take too many shots, coax, tease, or purr.
Not to bite, howl, or grin.
Not to get too cozy when I stargaze, tell embarrassing drinking stories, or speak my impressing words.
Not to stand on tables,
Not to shout out of car windows,
Not to dance like the drunken Maynads.
And I am quieter for it.
More intact.
Less alive.
I miss that wild beast.
I feel her gnawing at the cracks in my skin
begging me to don the wolf coat.
And some nights,
When the moon is right
I do.
And if I'm not careful,
Fastidiously luring and caging her
with promises of "next time"
until I've re-sewn my skin
I'm afraid that she'll eclipse me,
Careening through the night
And never returning.
I along with her
Never to return.

Inktober Prompt: Shy
Rules: The poem is whatever comes out of the pen, no edits allowed.

This poem is a bit of a response to my popular "I Am Loud" poem. Things have changed.

You are encased in your world of flower;
Whilst I suffer in the pit below
that wolf at the door is me.

He is the leader of my pack
and when he howls others follow in tick tack
tight formation, his howl has rendered cowards
to fits of madness, coward!

I am that too he says? hahaha!
A fit of vortex light burning brightly over there, you fool!
Screams the wolf,
'you do not know the box you have opened!'

'I do!'
I have opened the post it says sickness and fit,
a spice awakening in Sheffield, and not just the drugs
not working in Manchester,
as Ashcroft once sang banging his shoulders
into every passer by, why? For the hell of it,
take no prisoners, proper Manc wolf style.

And I will burn your souls with words, O burn those bridges burn;
I will crush you with every click of the typewriter
you seek to burn me, call me drunk and stoned and fool,
I forget you! ha! Neit papa! Neit Mama!

Da Christopher! I have made such art and wonders
so see I am not to be taken lightly.
I have danced with death, not once but twice
and lived to tell the tale, captured foes forever
their grimaces frozen in time.

In the dead of night when I have no desire
for both shallow words and drunken wounds and late night calling-
your 'fatal fallacies'
I will burn these images and all the old
word scribbled in spider handwriting
by me that eldest poet, and soul.
That fire shall bring solace.

I hate you, as much as I hate myself;
forever smoking in the corner
and laughing at deaths wings,
as it winks at me underneath
cloaked eyes of shallow indifference -

Off with you and your 'perfect' life too.
Bitter wolf blinks, and cannot sleep,
Oh look how I am red and rendered, insomnia
red eyed and twitching, shocks all over sighs the poet,
Never call me again, drunken witches. Vampires
and bloodsuckers.

Alive still and struggling against the call
of it. Defiantly myself, whilst others crawl
to the windowpane of the widows to cradle the light.
I am encased in darkness, and search for my window-
fools allay me from my path, winding, twisting to

I am burning. This fire it will not cease, this is
the end. My first friend, thrown to the fire,
her fate is sealed, she is undoubtedly married.

My pack is pleased, and giggle in the night,
drunk on the strength of passion! and Vodka!
Nein Nein Nein
Neit! Da! Da!

I grin through bared teeth,
Always gnashing and grinding.

A poem about an angry and bitter wolf howling and burning  to find a light under the moon. Moody hahahahaha
Shadowhollow Sep 28

She wasn't afraid to be herself
So when everybody said " be a lamb"
She showed her fangs , and became a

- Mark Anthony
Alexander Sep 27

Yes, wash me away,
And all my colors too.
Once ornated with the shades of life,
Now broken and gray.

We enter the halls of society
And exit perfect people,
That is,
If we ever leave.

They have us believe that we are unique
Yet they scrape what individuality we have,
Like fingers across a blackboard.
The light is fading away.

Maybe we should put on some wool and really become sheep,
Because the world’s wolves are howling for blood,
And we will give it to them for their attention.
We are as blind as we are stupid.

After the cycle is complete,
Do with me as you please.
My colors run cold,
In the deep blue river we call life.

Madi Sep 25

you don't understand
and been dramatic
so now
everybody ignores you
we don't believe you
why would we?

and honestly
you're my best friend
and i am yours
at least that's how
it used to be
now i can't stand
being around you

i still worry about you
trust me
it's true
i'm scared one day
it'll be real

i'm scared to lose you
i may not act like it
but you mean so much to me

this is about one of my friends. she's really over dramatic and it gets on my nerves. i ignore her a lot but i'm constantly scared that one day she will do something drastic.
CG Sep 24

You are the wolf,
wild, reckless, free
Howling up at the moon,
Breath seen in the cold night,
From or to - unknown.
Instinctive, predatory, beautiful
You are the wolf.

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