In the American wilds there are kings and
queens of the timberlands,
their pups born into a fraternity of royalty.
Crystal blue eyes shudder the dawn in
thick forests and open tundra.
Native American spirits in the elements
in all seasons,
in harmony with the wolves’ songs,
gently flowing eternally in the streams.
Oh, to run, run with their brethren of the
freedoms,
hunters and their prey churning up the
snow.
In the wilderness twilight they howl in
unison,
a woodland concert of the untamed neath
the ochre copper moon,
their breath exhaled in a frosty mist.
Whatever you do, please don’t kill my
wolves,
they are the sons and daughters of
nature’s magnificence.
So many have been felled and my heart
can’t bear hearing the roaring of the
rifles anymore,
Oh God, no!
Please don’t pierce their bodies,
their souls,
please, please don’t kill my wolves!
Was it my fault? My fault that the wolf was stalking me as prey, walking my way, behind me?
My fault so much that I was fined?
As if what I was wearing signed ME, for this pain, for this rage barely contained?
"What were you wearing?" They ask, but does that matter?
The wrapper doesn't matter to the predator as long as they get to capture the prey, the food, soothing their moods.
So was it really my fault for the crime that occurred?
or because you'd rather blame the prey for the monster's mistake?
for the crime scene on the streets?
for the people talking while the wolf hides behind trees, waiting for his next prey.
What big smile you have Grandmother.
The better to fool you with my dear.
Big smiles, big hair, breasts and heels
All designed to suck you in.
Hook us good then reel us in
For their Catch of the Day
Served up fresh battered and fried with chips.
And still the distant voices echo,
“Kill ugly radio”, “Kill your television”
To the plugged-in masses
Sharing their memes,
Endlessly scrolling their lives away.
What big teeth you have Grandmother.
Yes, but don’t you worry my child,
They only look so big
Because you are so close.
(3/8/26)
i've come to meet the wolves
the ones who dream beneath the pines
not to beg or steal or borrow
but to seek peace of mind
to offer them this skin i'm in
the one i wear so thin
(i almost forget it's mine)
let them judge me by the tremble in my hands
not the stories i've sold
and if i be damned, then let me be damned
and not the mask i hold
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Time Will Tell
Jim Morrison Jr
LifeLoveRomanticSpirituality
Epic
Time will tell that sets us apart
All we have is one more start
Although it seems
We’ve lost the race
Opportunity becomes discrase
We run with wolves
Our wild side
Screams of mercy
We can not hide
Love has lost
Motivation within
Rich or poor
They will not win
I hold my breath I close my eyes
I begin to breath N wonder why
I can’t explain where I’ve been before
I’ve seen so many lands
Outside my door
This gift of Love I promise no more
All has died the very same door
A Reflection
My soul is one, my body is one.
I soaked my soul in drink.
And like my stone, cold heart
my dark, dark soul did sink.
My soul is one, my body is one.
They do not always blend
broken mirror, broken glass,
Twins clash in opposition.
My soul is one, my body is one,
like the sign of the yin and the yang.
Red wolves waiting in ambush,
Watching, snarling, . . . circling, glaring.
Walking barefoot on crackled glass.
One is my soul; one is my body.
In the silence of my mind,
the soft voice whispers “this too shall pass.”
In time, my soul should feel.
And in the place of my poor, tired heart,
a stained-glass window heals.
rabid dogs
acting like angels
disturbs me a lot
their pretence awakens storm
within me
wicked wolves
found in sheep's clothing
disturbs me a lot
their deceit awakens storm
within me
Yes, I’m the cute little pooch,
You treat like a substitute child,
Domesticated and to some extent,
By breeding, I’m pedigree styled,
But don’t ignore my ancestral line,
For I still listen to the call of the wild,
And in my heart I’m still a wolf
And this wolf can be easily riled.
The only masters of words
are lawyers and politicians,
twisting syllables into chains,
binding the public
with illusions of justice.
International law?
A fragile parchment,
easily burned by power.
The mighty—
America and its allies—
violate it in daylight,
and walk away untouched.
The court that dares to judge them—
a kangaroo court,
mocking its own shadow.
And you, Africa,
you global south,
clinging to Roman-Dutch law,
do you not see?
You punish yourselves
with borrowed codes,
carrying wounds
not written for your soil.
Justice is no relic.
Law should be a river,
flowing with the times,
not a stone wall
blocking progress.
It should shield the weak,
balance the scales,
and light the path
toward a better society.
But in the world of wolves and sheep,
law is but a costume—
a shepherd’s cloak
draped over the wolf’s back,
while the flock dreams of safety,
never knowing
they are already lost.
Look what we've done
But why did you?
Look, we've done it
But should we have?
Why this first?
To be more heard.
Just because we could?
We'll describe.
So what about evolution?
What about it?
Is it not the rule?
Who’s to say?
Was it necessary?
We’ll justify it.
But in the silence
The howl remains.
They brought them back in the Age of Dust,
when crops failed and gods went quiet.
With DNA teased from marrow’s crust,
they rose--reborn, and violent.
In glass-born labs beneath dead cities,
the scientists whispered hope.
“Guardians,” they said, “not beasts nor pity,”
as they cut through time’s old rope.
But the wolves remembered ice and blood,
the hunt, the pack, the kill--
they moved like ghosts through ash and mud,
with a hunger time couldn’t still.
The world grew wild beneath their gaze,
old fences fell to claw and fang.
The sky turned gray for endless days,
and silence bloomed where children sang.
We learned to speak in signal fire,
to tread the earth with care--
for the alphas ruled from mountain spire,
and no one dares go there.
Now laws are written in howl and tooth,
in scent and scar and chase.
The price of playing God, in truth,
was the loss of the human race.
They roam where cities used to burn,
where glass lies sharp in bone--
and every full moon, we return
to pray they leave us alone.
Ancient howling came back to Earth
And before long more species followed
Some contested against this unnatural birth
But no one could deny it’s monetary worth
Then after a little - our world was swallowed
Even though we lacked a time machine
We ended back up in the Pliocene
Then we fell
We fell down and down
Further down the chain
The more scientists screwed with the current domain
Some of us reverted back as well
Gathering and hunting, because our old-new world fell
Some would live and some would die
Kids were taken and mothers cried
The ones in white coats were mostly taken first
They were the ones who unleashed the curse
Cities got taken by giant birds
They roosted atop the buildings we built
Everywhere you went, a sound could be heard
The sound of blood being spilt
Predators and their megafauna prey
Against each other make the worst sound I’ve heard to this day
But at least it’ll keep them fed
Sometimes that sound made me sleep more soundly in my bed
Oh how the tables turn
And how we turned them till the world burned
Quote by: Ring time
And there is a rumor in the forest...
••• If they believed in themselves, as they believe in dark and vicious words that desecrate minds and souls. If that same force will be used for them. Their concrete forests would flourish instead of dying in droughts caused by the minds of dark power . •••
The todos of their language
standing silent yet strong
in solidarity they take a stand
Wolves of a pack bonding together
refusal of the highest order ...
Dark energy of wolves
wolverine primal instincts, darkness!
Turned into strength, by the gentle presence of
intuition and wisdom
To know them is to understand their value
both loyal and strong they are brave warriors
of the forest.
By: Mystic Rose
through shadowed pines and drifting snow
a silver ghost moves soft and slow
eyes like embers, burning bright
a watcher in the frozen night
the moonlight carves his silhouette
a fleeting shape, a whispered threat
not of malice, nor of hate
but of a world that seals its fate
his voice, a song upon the air
a mournful cry, a hunter’s prayer
echoing through hollow stone
calling kin, yet left alone
wild and free, yet chased, betrayed
by hands that fear what won’t obey
but still he runs, through dark, through light
the untamed heart, the soul of night
I am in very good mood!
big wolves are coming
rats and mouses be aware
free spirited wolves
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