'Light'
#3 of original writing an old piece of writing i did a couple years ago in school :3 writing © munchypaws open eyes, open mind, soaring through the midnight sky, entranced, with stars igniting, colors rushing.
Death
Just a little poem from my book "midnight reflections" death is what is and what will be death is not sad death is not evil death is life it is what we walk toward some solemnly some with fear some with defiance some fool heartedly and some with
Poem: Freedom
The freedom to choose is merely perceived your choices in fact have been made, upon the eve of a midnight of nights, many nights ago at a round table, full of corperates, ready to go at a marketing ploy to raise your rates and to make you look at those
She Plays (Poem)
At midnight, she does not play. there will be more melodies in the day. but the day has yet to come
Happy Guilt
.** listen, a slow hum from the hue above a flawless cry within the midnight sky breathe into me a release a diamond coated care raping that which is yours fleeting thoughts echo the mind so innocent the crime weep for my sins building
Recollection
It was roughly around midnight and i had just stepped outside. you get the feeling that i'm a night owl? anyways i looked to the stars and that's when i seen it. a round disc hovering almost concealed in the sky.
Souls Eternal Flame
I get off at midnight; if you want i'll meet you out front when i get out." she said. nikoli smiled and nodded, he motioned to her where he put the money, and stood up and stretched.
Sentinels: Youth
"midnight tonight i'll be eighteen." "dang, wish i know! i'd have bought you an ice cream cake or something - if i wasn't broke," he added sheepishly, and then perked up.
Poem: The Wolves Cry When I Cry
Or is it the fang, silver in the midnight sun? piercing the flesh, two hearts as one. felt ever lasting, till the end of time "you're love, i want it, forever mine" the wolves cry when i cry...
We Used to be Wild
I remember the tremor, midnight feathers aquiver when you found me. yawning maw filled with wind and the sheen of your fangs. you scented past my silence, my hollow bones. the trees were old friends. we dove into dew. flesh blooms.
Cold
A poem about how i feel at times during the midnight hour of the soul.
the wolf
#2 of poetry more of my old poetry the wolf there stands my wolf softly in the midnight air ebony with fur as soft as the moon light i know him not by nights snare but by the dream that lies in there there walks my wolf in the dawn air