Waar ik slaap, deinen auto's
isomorf met de zee.
Onder een betonnen deken, kust
en sust het stoplicht me tot rust.
Maar ergens tussen hier en nergens,
aan het eind van dode paden,
op jouw land en onder jouw genade,
werd mijn kortsluiting geblust
fifteen dragons in flight, gliding through the atmosphere.
each with their own abilities,
each with their own color, and size,
each with their own nature,
with their own destiny...
Winter WonderlandSnow blankets the fields that once were green
This Winter Wonderland which can be seen
Creating starkness in a shade of white
We gaze in awe upon this sight
Snowflakes drifting slowly to the ground
Floating softly without a sound
Placing shapes upon this earth
Filling hearts with Winter's mirth
All wrapped in garb to keep us cosy
Of joyous laughter and cheeks so rosy
We make snow-angels in the snow
Such sheer delight with eyes aglow
Snowballs flying through the air
As children play without a care
Shrieks of glee flow on the breeze
Another memory our hearts will seize
And when the day is finally done
We say far
Mother Nature.Mother Nature.
She is the world’s most notorious serial killer.
No other can be more creative or spontaneous.
Obscuring her weaknesses as her strengths,
Eradicating masses reducing flesh to ashes.
She turns all novels of life into a vengeful thriller.
The effects of her actions are simultaneous.
Her native reach is beyond any man’s length.
The fact is while we worry about taxes,
She could strike again at any given time.
After generations of countless preparations.
We still cannot calculate her complex design.
As she alters her variation to suit any situation.
Some pledge their allegiance to her,
Others doubt whether she exists.
Regardless of the feelings you have towards her.
It is still her terrain to retain, tangle and twist.
With minimal effort she controls the deserts, the concrete and the seas.
She is capable of making grand buildings tumble to their knees.
With ease she can encourage the streets to flourish with disease.
And afterwards create ever green trees with hom
Wolfen SoulI have never wanted to howl,
So badly as I do now.
I can feel the tightening in my chest,
My maw raising toward the sky,
Flattening my ears,
And singing to the moon
To my brothers and sisters,
To my soul that lives out in the forest.
All of it.
I want to drink in the air,
As it swirls around me,
I want to growl, play and bark,
At my pack who live around me.
I just want to be freed,
Of this retched life.
I want to wag my tail
And feel the soil between my paws.
Most of all, I want to howl,
I want to sing my soul for all to hear.
I just want to be free,
To be free in the wild.
Yet I am forced to hold back the feeling.
The tears welling up in my eyes,
Slowly fall down my muzzle.
I dont know if Im happy or sad,
But now I can feel myself calming down.
The feeling has been released for now,
But until it happens again, I will howl for you,
And the life that awaits in the deep green forests,
Of my heart and soul.
*flattens ears and howls*
Journey To StarClan"Clawface!" Spottedleaf hissed, her amber eyes wide with fear and fur bristling. She backed up into a corner, away from the heavily-scarred tom "What are you doing here?" She had never feared this tom- as a medicine cat she was above that- but nowthe evil glint in his eyes sent a chill through her spine.
"Finishing you off, crowfood!" He growled, baring his yellow teeth into a snarl. With eyes gleaming with the light of battle he leapt at her, thorn-sharp claw unsheathed as he aimed for the medicine cat's throat.
"Not while I can fight, fleabag." She threw the insult with determination, some vague voice in her mind telling her that she didnt stand a chance. Her mentor, Icepetal, had died before her training was complete, leaving some things out- including some of her fighting training. She could only dodge Clawface's attack as his teeth snapped next to her twitching ear. Clawface growled and flew onto his opponent's back, and with the skill of a seasoned warrior he pinned her to
just pretend i am a mantell me five things
that give you crows feet
at the x-extends of your facial
that would be
when I feel a poem coming on.
me? it can’t be
my chemistry innuendos
and travel-worthy shows of poetic
justice. in transit, we are
shifting and stretching
our insecure binding
to hybridized vengeance
(twenty of them)
read with me the stories
of those at disturbance
with god? I’d have you
stuck in a parking lot,
enjoying an addiction, fearful
of being broadcast
in theory, of course.
my curls will not tire
of your hinted accent. my
complaints will not lessen
in your infinite kindness;
you are no more a stranger to me
than my own skin. your youth is carved
in each thunderstorm i wish i had seen;
all i require is wooden floorboards
and the slightest glimpse
the sweetness you taste last of nights
and early mornings
is a permanent bookmark
is a wishful glitch.
are my steroid-strength
ambrosia; a fi