Alpha wolf sniffs

beads of rain,

scent of earth.

Night stalker howls

at silvery moon lantern

hanging from evening

dressed in black velvet.

Sound travels

like discordant refrain

calling mates

to join in the hunt.

Children of freedom

run toward leader

like lightning flashes,

biting air

with curved teeth.

Parades of wolves

sport winter clothes

as lemon drop moon

melts on their tongues.

Stars weep, leaving path

of red misty dust,

abyss of colors in

chilled night air,

earth scars scattered

where paws have journeyed.

Traveling by blood scent

hungry eyes serenade night,

wild spirits howling

in distant winds,

running wild

to a new tomorrow.

#cry of the wolf #challenge

The boy who cried wolf,

he never heard the wolf cry

when the villagers would come

and the wolf waited to die.

Staring forlorn

up at the cold moon,

he howls each night

his lonely tune.

His song shivers

down your spine,

and around your heart

will entwine

his tears

they pin-prick

your heart will sear

at this feeling

so silently clear.

Hush your mind

tip-toe, tip-toe,

if you choose

to hear the wolf's

story of woe.

His howl makes

the sleeping trees dance

the moon will cry

and the wind come prance

We hear these things

as they whisper and move,

but no one ever hears

the cry of the wolf. ❋

There is a place where monsters go to reminisce,

a box of letters with no address

hearts hung, still bleeding on the wall

a phone never ringing, awaiting an old lovers call

Who wipes there tears of those who cause the crying?

If I told you by heart was breaking would you think me lying?

There is a river where monsters wash their the feet

and talk of all the people they'd love to meet

a dance done in brightest part of the dark

we never speak of our broken hearts

Hidden deep within the vale

Lurks a dragon with length of tail,

With razor teeth,

And steel for scales.

The bravest knight,

By name Sir Keith,

Fled in fear with shrieks and wails.

His efforts came to no avail.

The dragon overcame Sir Keith,

And used his bones to make a wreath.

The sun soon set upon the vale,

And so ends this dragon's tale.

The wolf cries at night, 

his sorrow so loud,

he sings in the dark,

with a soul louder 

then the beating of my heart...

He cries to the moon,

breathes with the wind,

and smiles with spite.

Howling over the world,

that left him here all alone. 

Wanting so much more

then the moon's bright light 

on the edge of the forest 

where his home once was...

and is no more.

sparkly scales cover, shine in the moonlight

iridescents gleam to one's eye

the spines glittering gold

reflects in the walls as it goes awry

just as dangerous as the other end

and expect its sound to amplify

long as the body, sometimes even longer

and when hit, expect to fly

To some, a dragon's tail would be worth millions, maybe even billions of dollars. Being able to possess the tail of a creature that we thought didn't even exist, how could someone not charge large sums of money for that?

But for my younger self, the show Dragon Tales was priceless. It may not have been the tail of one of these beasts, but to me, it was of equivalent value. To my child like self, it possibly was worth even more than an actual dragon's tail would ever be.

The wolf's cry rang out through the night,

My older brother warned me to sit tight.

For if moved bad things would happen,

For if I moved I would be captured.

This was but a tale my brother told me,

to keep me up all night without a wink of sleep.

As a child I could not see,

this horrid trick he was playing on me.

For as a child my imagination was wild,

never letting any possibility be exiled.

Now, I know that story was a heap of shit,

and I let those fears surrender and quit.

But, although I don't believe anymore,

It doesn't mean I can't still dream and explore.

Because now I can take my dreams,

and try to make them a reality...

Hair falling down the curvature of her neck,

Is it black?

Is it blonde?

The room is so dark,

The show begins,

Lightly music begins,

Music soars through the air,

Yet all I can think of is the Lady,

Her hair,

Her white dress,

Spots of red that adorned it,

Were they blood stains,

Were they rubies,

I did not care,

I wanted to know her,

To feel her fair skin,

I yearned to smell her hair,

The Lady Of The Opera,

The swells and dives of music only serve to make her disappearance a true mystery,

Forever will I think and yearn for The Lady of the Opera.