The owls are at play
Tonight as they strike
With cunning precision
And knowledge as they
Claim their prize and
Prey always knowing
With their giant and
Knowing and ancient
Eyes seeing everything
Both physical and
Mystical as they
Peer into the night
As they peer into
The day their eyes
Know the truth of it
All as they soar into
The sky and find
Refuge during the
Day only to come
Out at night to play
In their moonlit
Playground as
They navigate
The Stars and Moon
As she plays with
Her children of the night
When the animals and
The owls come out the
Moon is at her happiest
And she smiles at the
Owls as they owls
Knowingly smile
Back at her as she
Softly illuminates
All to see for their
Eyes to perceive to
Their prize and
Their prey as the
Owls begin their
Dangerous play
And when they are
Done and the Moon
Has set once again
In her beautiful nest
In the sky the owls
Once again retreat to
Their nests on the Earth
To return to play with
The Moon once again

the owl has wisdom so they something he uses every day
he has the answers within his head he knows what to say and what should be said
he seems to know whats right from wrong with a head full of knowledge and mind so strong.
maybe one day the owl will learn me how to do things the same as he

All I need to do is look into one's eyes, instantly I can tell whose who;
as i walk those dark matter halls
following your spirals in reverse
I AM mindful of what might become unearthed.
You fit into a category called the 1/3rd's,
where codes are locked in the CONtext of vague words,
only a few will embark on the conquest Unknowing what the outcome is worth,
best believe true reality is sweeter than 5 star desserts.
I ve entered the realm of no returns,,,
you know it as the plane of imagination, think; what if mere words of persuasion could eradicate any ultimatum on all occasions?
The main goal is to become highly melanated.
Otherwise, them other guys can get ******, stuck in that basin. (aka ''3D'' box)

theres a big white owl he sits up on a fence
surrounded by the woodland so very thick and dense
with his eyes so big and a head that spins around
sitting there so quietly he dosent make a sound
he can see for miles when he begins to fly
flying there so gracefully as he hovers in the sky
waiting for his chance to move in for the ****
hovering so gently in the night so still.

There was a time when the Owl was the lover of Sound.
Sound was a beautiful creature, full of laughter and life and raucous vitality.
Sound loved the Owl, and the Owl loved Sound.  
They would perch in the trees together, laughing, listening to the calls of the peepers and the crickets yells.
Sound would joke, maybe I’ll leave you, go live with them.
        The Owl would laugh, who would you go to? Who could love you more than I?
Time passed, and they were in love.
But Sound began to notice a change.
        The Owl became sickly, thin, gaunt.  Laughs turned to coughs, jokes to weak smiles.
        The Owl didn’t eat.  How could he, when Sound accompanied him on all of his hunts? The Owl didn’t sleep.  Sound may have loved the night best, with its echoes and reverberations in the dark, but daytime was also filled with Sound’s calls, and the Owl could not tear himself away.
Sound begged the Owl, go, eat, sleep!  The Owl didn’t listen.  He refused to leave Sounds side.
        Sound knew that seeing the Owl like this hurt more than being separated from him.
That night, the Owl slept.
He slept all night and all day and when he awoke, it was night once more.
        He rustled his feathers, but, to his surprise, Sound was not there.  
He opened his beak to call forth.  But Sound was still absent.
He searched all throughout his home, becoming increasingly frantic.  Sound was gone.
The Owls pain and confusion rushed forth.  He opened his beak silently again, then threw himself into flight.
        Sound did not accompany him there, either.
The Owl flew all night.  His eyes grew large from searching, his hearing keen, and he stretched his neck looking every way looking for Sound.
As morning broke, the Owl returned to the perch he had shared with his love.  He listened to the calls of the peepers and the crickets yells, alone.  He closed his now- wide eyes, and, from the depths of his being, he crafted a reply, a plea, a call.
        “Who”
Who could love you more than I…

I'm a night owl when I think
           usually I sleep soundly when I don't

Longing for those that destroy me:

Could be the diagnosis
Or condition i fear to be diagnosed
Could be daddy issues
Or mommy, or both

I strive for days i feel the sun
But those days come few to none
Instead i feel the moons stare
And watch its friends nod me on

as i begin to dance i can feel the weight lifting.
i'm soaring, like a bird. no, an owl.

soaring high.
higher than anyone ever before.

you thought this would bring me down?

i'm soaring.
never so free.

i'm soaring.
as high as can be.