Can I just say that words are incredibly powerful? So powerful that they can build you up or tear you down. Words can put life into a person who loses hope. Words can also crumble a steady foundation. The best part? You don’t actually have to say I hate you in order for your meaning to get across. You don’t have to tell someone they are good for nothing by using those words. If you want to tell someone who you believe they have wasted every part of their lives you can, even without saying it. Thanks to posture, tone of voice, facial expressions and a black heart you can break someone down without even saying a negative word. Hell, you can say positive words and have a connotation of complete and utter hatred. Hence this poem.


Wolves

Wolves hunt in packs
A lonely sheep unsafe
In the forest unfiltered
With impending strafe
The pack will circle
Stalking their prey
Smelling the fear
Each step weighed

The wolves howl
Words tearing the air
Cutting the sheep
Darkened, ensnared
They grimace knowing
The sheep won’t last
The words too sharp
Their feet too fast

The sheep submits
Not of humility
Knowing no use
With no mobility
The sheep bleeds
Words cut so decisive
Events of normalcy
Scars reopened, incisive
The sheep’s face stoned
No hurt shall it show
No weakness it airs
As its pulse slows

The pack of wolves
Finish the chase in glory
The sheep’s broken heart
Another page to its story


One day I will learn to write different styles of poems. Until then you get this. It isn’t much. Hell, it isn’t even great. It’s just about a sheep who no matter how hard it tries to fit in gets chased away by a pack of wolves. Sometimes, sometimes it’s better to be alone than to be a part. Sometimes.

xoxo

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