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Just another day, poeting with Wolf



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Sun Apr 12, 2015 3:27 am
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SpiritedWolfe says...



Day 11 -
13. A Cycle of Life

You're bound to have noticed
the sun rises every morning without
fail. Then it glides across the sky, lead
by clouds, and falls behind the horizon
once more. it is a cycle of life.

Morning dew drops smother
grass blades, filled with life.
Under harsh rays, they float
as vapor along smooth winds to
the clouds. Then to fall again as
shed angel tears. another cycle of life.

Far into the night, a new crying
child emerges from a womb. A new birth
into a thick blackness of the cycle.
As if by miracle, the moon splits
a cloud to shower the baby in warmth
to welcome it's into another cycle of life.

Spinning, moving, never-changing yet always shifting
through the stages of life. A cycle of life
is set in stone with paths and events engraved
in the souls of shoes whose feet cross paths
over and over again. But, every path is different
for different people. One snowflake from
dainty clouds is never the same as another from
the same. That is the cycle of life.
Last edited by SpiritedWolfe on Mon Apr 13, 2015 6:39 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[insert really cool and fun quote here]
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Mon Apr 13, 2015 2:40 am
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SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Twelve -
14. Scars Untold

Years ago I made a census of the scars that
run down my legs and arms and neck so gingerly,
they resemble snakes lounging in trees: tail
curved in, body coiled in rough skin.
But they're sweet; they tell me stories -
secret stories - of how they came to be.

The first is a toothpick, pricked on my arm
from a claw too thin to draw blood.
Four others on my knees, come from
skidding on pavement to sharp, jagged rocks.
Across my lips is one too thin to
see, when I tripped and feel on track.

They all seem to be so clumsy, only
coming from mistakes. I've lived and learned
the lessons they teach me, when I didn't think
about how it would affect me later.
How it wouldn't saved me later, from
this last scar. It has a story to tell

"so listen close," it snaps, with a whip voice
cracking across the air. Sparks fly from the rocks
caging its home in my heart. Heart of stone
so cold, an inferno could not thaw it. I locked it away.

There comes a time, when the same scar
will part from betraying daggers and rejecting
swords, too sharp to know they'll slash deep.
And the same scar heals over again, yelling louder
stories of hurt and break. But it's never sad.
Oh no, it has warnings and prophecies of
that bad man out of reopen wounds since
scarred. Minds cannot fathom it's lessons, but
the scar has wisdom and says
"Words only have power if you give it to them."
[insert really cool and fun quote here]
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Tue Apr 14, 2015 2:40 am
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SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Thirteen -
15. Simplicity

The most powerful messages can be those
hit with the brunt of the blade.
A message too blunt seems so
weak, that it can find no monsters to slay.

Yet messages like 'I love you'
or 'Leave me' cause the most heartache
within souls, old and young.
Soft spirits, it does break.
[insert really cool and fun quote here]
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Tue Apr 14, 2015 9:44 pm
SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Fourteen -
16. Blooming Flowers

Along with the flowers, all in full bloom,
the woods let off smoke, plume after plume
as it swallows the sun, the stars and the sky
and drowns out any creature that dares to fly.
Into the morning, there comes a new gloom

that haunts all the animals of looming doom.
The darkness so thick, not a beam from the moon
can penetrate it, but all seems gentle and still,
along with the flowers, all in full bloom.

Soot in the air drifts down the steam
so light, so calm, like thoughts in a dream.
The fire gulps up grass, but has to spill
out of the valley and over the hill,
and with a snap dissipates the impending doom
along with the flowers, all in full bloom.
[insert really cool and fun quote here]
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Thu Apr 16, 2015 1:48 am
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SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Fifteen -
17. What did I just write?

Today was an interesting day,
rather boring and bland and nothing to say
about how it went and so it left Wolf
with nothing to write about... stuck.

So off she skipped, to the land of her mind!
to climb through the jungles to pass the time
as she should be writing or studying or finishing work
for classes and school and other productive things (that I'm not really sure what's going on...)

"To the adventures" she cried to the world while
she danced and laughed at the rather vile
weariness that clung to her eyes.
It was a blessing in disguise.

(Oh look! I made a forced rhyme
at the end of the fourth line.
That never happens in life
because it is rude.)

She sighed at the thoughts, so sluggish and gloom
knowing very well it was time for bed.
With a glance at the clock and a stare at the moon,
she packed up the glow and said,

"I'm great at this. :3"
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Fri Apr 17, 2015 2:03 am
SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Sixteen -
18. love is worse than hate

"hate is a strong word."
"strong words for strong feelings. is strong
dislike
a better option for you?"
"i prefer you fill it with love."
"with love?

love is worse than hate, coming in raw
bundles, ripped open before they touch your
delicate fingers. the contents inside are pre-
shattered for your future frustrations. don't
worry, it was only your heart and soul smashed
like a flimsy doll. hope you don't mind.

love is worse than hate, as it appears in
neat present, carefully wrapped in colorful paper by
delicate fingers. a pretty bow on top shimmers
like fire. it causes burns too deep to heal
with love. love causes scars even deeper
than the soul can withstand. do you want that?

love is worse than hate, because love cannot be pushed
aside. it consumes your entire being until the knots are too tight
dainty, nimble fingers cannot untie the whole it
became. at least with hate, it can be cast
aside with the rest of your mind, but souls
eat up the emotion and spits out a skeleton. such a pity.

now tell me again how wonderful love is
after experiencing its leeching effects.
'hate is a strong word' for too
strong feelings that crush everything in its
path before love can incinerate it."

"hate is a strong word."
"a strong word for strong emotions."
"love seems to be worse than hate."
"i agree."
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Fri Apr 17, 2015 3:08 pm
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SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Seventeen -
19. My heart.

With soft tiptoes and pittering, pattering beats against
the windows, tears of the heavens only taste sweet - no bitter
thoughts come along, for the evening is free.
Out in the yard, puddles pool in small dips under the fence
that guards my home from predators - or sorrowful weather,
drowning me, but the mist is as pretty as could be.

There is always an end to the rain, no matter how peaceful
or breaking, bending it may feel to old bones. The sun lights
the sky, parting the clouds - no matter the shade.
After a swift shock that pulls you away from the land of blissful
sleep, the world may rock, but keep your feet right
and the feeling of collapse seems to fade.

Though rises another sun -
Hardship is bone crushing,
But I'm sure you know that
crushing bone is hardship.
- Another sun rises, though.

The feeling of collapse seems to fade,
like sleep. The world may rock, but keep your feet right
after a swift shock that pulls away from the land of bliss.
The sky, parting the clouds no matter the shade
is breaking, bending - it may feel - old bones, but with the sun's light
there is always an end to the rain, no matter how, ending in peace.

I am drowning, but the mist is as pretty as could be.
As it guards my home from predators, or sorrowful weather
out in the yard. Puddles pool in small dips under that fence.
Thoughts come along, for the evening is free
like the windows, tears of heavens only tasting sweet - not bitter.
Only soft tiptoes and pittering, pattering beats against

My heart.
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Sun Apr 19, 2015 2:54 am
SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Eighteen -
20. Music

If I could put words to the music
that flies through my head with fingers
sliding, mashing, passing notes from
sharp, flat, natural accidentals that are
no accident. They are the outlet
for the emotions consuming me, into
shriveled words that is only
music, to some.
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Mon Apr 20, 2015 2:39 am
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SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Nineteen -
21. Straight to Voicemail

I've counted four months but
it's really been eight years since we've
seen eye to eye. Or spoken as ourelves,
not yet shrouded by the past.

Four month since I last heard your voice
or you heard mine, and you claim you care
enough to try every now and then, but
never enough to reach out, prove to me
my voice is worth it to you.

Four months since Christmas or New Years -
the holidays, when everyone is expecting me to
call. Thank you for the meaningless gift. Not
from the heart. I would say 'I hate you, cheapskate.'
A gift means nothing if there isn't even an ounce
of sentiment - or thought of love.

Three sets of four months times eight turns to
how many times I've cried for you. You made me numb
to the core with hatred and saddnes. You left me
without a word, only the occasional phone call
I prefer to let voicemail deal with.

Spoiler! :
Because of you, four months turned to eight
years that I've turned stone cold inside. I've
gotten over you. And the last time I bothered to call you
'daddy', was when you left me on the stairs. Alone.


(PS. The spoiler is a part of the poem :3)
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Tue Apr 21, 2015 2:18 am
SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Twenty -
22. Two Faced

{No, dont. - Please do.]
[You might be scared but - I don't
think it makes sense you seem desperate - ly
in control of yourself. Listen to
your feelings - no, your logic.}
/Think of what I have to offer
you. Listen to
me, not them./

Inside me, two titans battle
for dominance. Who do I listen to?
The slave driver pulls my heart
on a leash and collar, tightly bound
in chains. It yanks one way or another,
where I am afraid to go, but am forced
by this monster Emotion.

[Oh, sweetheart! You don't know what
you want yet. I know what's best, what's buried
deep within your mind, it's secrets. Follow
me and I'll help you unlock your heart.]

Inside me, two gods clash
for power over me. Who should I crown victor?
The serpent goddess drowns my mind
in ropes and vines, spilling into every crack -
every fiber of me - what is right, what is wrong.
It grinds into the soft earth all that can
and cannot become, what works and doesn't
but it makes my heart ache with neglect.

{Logic trumps all feeling. Any problem can be solved
with correct reasoning, but nothing is solved with
impusles, feelings, gut wrenching intuition.
I am the superior, follow me for success.}

Inside me, heaven and earth collide
for supremacy. Which will kill me first?
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Tue Apr 21, 2015 11:48 pm
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SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Twenty-One -
23. Crumbling

What makes you so whole, so perfect, without
cracks splitting through your shell? What makes you
so calm, while a blank blizzard strangles me inside? What
makes you so whole? Tell me before my essence
swallows the last pieces of me, loosely strung together.

*Under lofty clouds, blood stains the bottoms, as if
a giant tried to paint the sky. Reds and yellows bleed out into
the morning, from the rising blue - receding black
of night. I should rejoice, but the monsters don't dare to
leave at day/break; their spirits. they never. leave.

Birds crow horrendous sneers while I stumble along
through the river, wading for another chance. (at life?)
The oily water, all black and blue, clings to me in little
splotches all over my arms and legs. too tender. Can't
move? Feel/touch? The pain - burden - always follows.

Tears in my skin seep where my eyes should be, plain -
my soul's gateway, gone with the soul itself. It
Is another chance. worth it? I've been too many times
broken beyond repair (or so the doctors say.)* I hate it
that you're so whole, while I'm crumbling
in absence of my soul.
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Thu Apr 23, 2015 1:56 am
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SpiritedWolfe says...



Spoiler! :
I wrote this a short 20-minute-word-war with a friend to see who could write a better poem. It may not be the best, but there is no editing ^^


Day Twenty-Two -
24. The Glass Floor

If I could scrub away all the muck from
my palette of lies, like the smudges on the glass
ballroom floor, I'd be perfect. Too perfect, that
any can see my reflection, my transparency;
everyone would know me - how to hurt

my tender feelings are like the splotches,
left from the dust on the soles of my feet.
I used to dance with a free soul, on this floor
or glass, so perfect and smooth - not a ripple
to be seen among the ocean.
If I were scratchless/scarless,
my body would be a shield to the refugee
who could never step into the light of day.

But like the floor, I can never be fully cleansed
of the lies I smear. Each one is worse then the last
and the harder I scrub, more comes from the dirt
on my shoes. While I leave a trail of soap,
someone else walks into the ballroom and admires
the seeming perfection and gives more impurity

to this room, I am always summoned and given
the task to scrub. Scrub, wash, rinse, all similar
words under one meaning. That is my sentence

for life passes on, while I rot away in my own empty
chasm that is the glass floor. I cannot dance
away my worries, for another stain shows where my shoe left
a mark, also from just my bear feet squeaking
as I slide along. My bare hands leave finger prints, so small
no one will notice, will they? I do.

But you don't.

You prance into the hall of pure
glass, like your heart. Transparent, but your own.
Wearing it like a cape flying behind you, it shields
what you fear, what you love, from the demon
smudges. They don't register. And you take my hand
from the sponge and you tell - no, command - that I laugh.

So I do. For you are new to me, strange in your own accord,
but I like that. You know how to dance across
the glass without a smudge, only pure, and pull me along.
You show my prison, glass ballroom, has purpose
and use. A chore at times, but nothing is complete
in its purity. Everyone has some smudges.

While we dance, the perfect motions, there is a split
in the glass floor where my soul was too free, too
daring and I crumble along with it.
But you pick me up, dust it off the floor and
tell me:

"Everything breaks, has a point it cannot go on
any longer. It may be done for good. But know that
if something has broken, it has served its purpose
to the fullest. Don't be afraid to break a little -
it's how you get out of your shell."
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Fri Apr 24, 2015 1:58 am
SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Twenty-Three -
25. Stupid Things

Perhaps you can dance the night away, among flowers
fenced off, with a prompt sign: "Keep out". No wonders
why it was placed. The grass is too tall
for your shorts, which makes you fall
down the hill beside you. I doesn't take powers

to figure out it wasn't smart. Maybe you were scattered
in your thinking, led to believe it didn't matter
if your life was at risk.
And you were quite brisk
in getting your ribs completely shattered.
Last edited by SpiritedWolfe on Mon Apr 27, 2015 2:47 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Sat Apr 25, 2015 2:05 am
SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Twenty-Four -
26.

Fingers flying, breezing over keys
too light, too brisk
in their tapping and cutting the clack
off too short. Injustice to the thought
instead of drawn out, shot
down. While still roaming free.

No rhyming, reasonable patterns
to discern underneath the cobwebs
dangling across the gears. Two swift brushes
and a cloud of dust takes over.
The thought still comes through,
like a beacon across the ocean in a night.

Here, there, leaping across meadows
just to get to the next zone
before another meteor steals the shooting stars
as they hurtle onto the ground. Catch them
falling. Flying - like fingers on keys
as they try to convey my thoughts.
Last edited by SpiritedWolfe on Mon Apr 27, 2015 2:47 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Sat Apr 25, 2015 8:05 pm
SpiritedWolfe says...



Day Twenty-Five -
27.

If I took six steps backwards,
time would still move on without me.
Inside my head, I can be frozen, stuck
within the endless white expanse, but
I am only left behind. Nothing stops
for me, for you, for anyone.

If I counted seven pebbles on
the sidewalk, it wouldn't make a square,
for I'd be two short. Too short a time to know
that I can't stay hidden forever, because that
isn't how it works. To anyone else, I am
purely alone, no one, nothing.

If I placed four bullets holes in
my own sanity, then perhaps I could say,
Yes a thousand times over. Yes- I can't.
It hurts a thousand time over when you smile
and I can only cry. I can't make myself to
trust you, myself, anything
ever again.

Don't blame yourself. Blame the cows.
Last edited by SpiritedWolfe on Tue Apr 28, 2015 2:41 am, edited 1 time in total.
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