#rebelsoul
A sheep unshorn, a misfit star,
too wild for wool, too sharp for flocks.
It walked alone where twilight wept,
where mountaintops kissed silver clocks.
Judgment struck like feathered arrows,
but wounds grew wings and took to flight.
"I’ll carve my throne from nameless echoes,
build my own laws beneath the night."
Yet beauty whispered, laced with teeth,
a velvet snarl in hunger’s guise.
The wolves arrived—moonlit beasts,
with gleaming pearls of red-stained lies.
Beauty isn’t soft, nor kind, nor fair,
It’s a rare flame, wild in the air.
A mirage that shifts, a whispered disguise,
Wrapped in illusion, unseen to the eyes.
The sheep stood firm where darkness danced,
while others cursed the sky’s despair.
Was beauty love or sharpened fangs?
A question lost to midnight air.
Bound by fate or freed by choice,
it laughed—"I’ll fall, but not in fear."
For even flight can lead to chains,
and even wolves can disappear.
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 3:24 AM UTC