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"The Wolf"
A howl heard for miles was projected from the quiet woods.
The wolf roams beyond the ancient pine, grazes the fibers of the sturdy oak.
A full moon igniting a cold December night,
Footprints left by canid paws disturb the freshly varnished snow.
High above the wilting willow, the owl blends with acrylic white.
Through illuminate vision, it guards the branches with audacious valor.
An assailant with perfection, an assassin with aesthetics,
It patiently stalks the frigid night with the mind of the thirsty wolf.
The twilight moon shimmers above a gridlock of albescence,
Reflecting off the achromatic white of feather and fur.
A remarkable silence infecting the forest,
The wolf streaks the sleeping elm, a phantom of the night.
Nice, The wolf and his dark
Nice, The wolf and his dark persona illuminated by it's very stigmata.... Kyle, you are so talented.
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "