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The Wolves

the warm golden light,

sneaking in through the crevices of my blinds,

kiss my cheeks and my skin,

and warms up those path of tears.

this golden light pouring out of an urn in the sky,

makes a smile play on my lips,

makes me warm, and tranquil.

the ringing in my ear tunes out,

so do the screams...

and then the very preposterous question arises,

from the sanguine side of me,

"have the wolves been tamed?"

and just like that, the hope runs away,

like a petrified and failed father,

the screams and the ringing are louder than ever,

the porch swing, swings on it's own accord.

and the wolves? unleashed. yet again.

i trusted the wolves who would rip my head off if they had a chance,

i fell in love with hope, even after i knew,

that he would run away, like an innocent pleaded guilty, would run from the law.


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