The Howling Wolves.

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These poems have no explanations. These will keep on coming until something happens.

The Howling Wolves.

The howl of a wolf from far I hear,
The cunning darkness those howls break,
From them in fear I always run,
A fear that grown thin every day.

Upon our own kind we step,
And as if unknown away we walk,
Emotions are by products of senses,
And to express them Oh’ we forgot.

Another kind of emotions we have,
Far beyond sense can comprehend,
Oh’ my love for you fades,
In those emotions none can ever understand.

When mind in earthly atmosphere suffocates,
The flames of fire of unknown origin consumes,
What left of a that still beats,
Beats in rhyme with your heart.

Curse those who made these cages,unseen,
Curse those who fabricated binding rules,
Curse those who drawn unseen lines,
Curse those who can never stop this bleeding.

The howl of many wolves from near I hear,
They are growing in numbers every day,
They will find me and eat me one day,
Oh’ they will kill and eat in thankfulness,
Than those who in fake love consumes a lifetime.


There is a meaning in everything I say and do beyond what five senses can comprehend. There is hardly anyone who truly understands it all. Those who did all died of old age, then a handful of people who understands they shut senses to escape the true meanings. The easy way, never visit this site.

9 Replies to “The Howling Wolves.”

  1. you write portals into the soul. i read and remember those who carried my intimate daily existence..all gone to the grave now..I see efforts of take up that space..a cousin who knew my mother before I was born..she alone now the bearer of my early life here…She tries to tell my uniqueness at greater gatherings…..the rest….never ask..too busy …for many i stand as silent witness to their entire lifetime…a privilage a grace visited upon me…….Great poem…few live in true mindful intent all the time…hearing..sensing..knowing..your / my/ subtle nuances..because they are blind or too self absorbed to be able to listen… the wolves approach…once again .>>dysE<<

  2. wonderful writing.. this entry made me think about things I am now finding hard to put to words. I think we sometimes overestimate our own aloneness in the universe. though each of our souls is as a fingerprint, none can ever come close to matching for all of the intricacies in general human emotions have a certain range and what we feel has been felt by another at some point. unless you start believing that you are supernatural or superior you must admit to an extent that your own emotions can be understood by another person. The question becomes whether or not you choose to share the nature of your emotions to allow someone to relate to them their own. In most cases I choose not to, it seems you choose that course too.

  3. To me through reading this piece 3 times I came to the conclusion that the wolves are a metaphor for anything that we deam a threat… For me right now its the extreme liberalistic minds in the media and in powerful positions in this country and all over the world that are haveing such a negative affect on the youth… Teaching them that things that are clearly wrong are ok if that is the way they want to be and calling masking EVERYTHING under the political correct label… Dont get me wrong there is a time for political correctness but give me a break by the time that they are done it seems that people will walk the streets with Ak-47s merely to survive…
    Haveing said all that this was a wonderful piece and as you can see it sparked something in me and I dont know about you but thats not always easy to do… 

  4. The wolves are always at the door….a lot of imagery and feeling here…I really didn’t like the poem I put up so I changed it. I think it flows better now. Hope your having a GREAT day!

    Much Love,


  5. “And to express them Oh’ we forgot.”  It’s so simple, but it hits home in a way quite unusual.

    “Curse those who made these cages,unseen,Curse those who fabricated binding rules,Curse those who drawn unseen lines,Curse those who can never stop this bleeding.”

    ^ This is very powerul. I feel angry even. I dislike those.

    I like the parallel idea of actual consumption running with emotional consumption. It feels real.

  6. Hello. Thank you for visiting. Yes, the Reverend and the Bronte family were my great, great (etc) grandfather’s next-door neighbours. The Parsonage is still here, of course, down the road from our house. I am including Charlotte in my novel. My grandfather was in love with her.

    I like your site and your words. I’ll drop by often. Thank you.


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