The Furry Forums
Creative Arts and Media => Creative Writing => Topic started by: Vael on October 21, 2016, 04:56:45 AM
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So, this is where I'll put my poems and other writings.
Just as a precaution, some of my stuff can be kind of dark, dealing with things like depression and personal issues. If you don't think you can handle it, don't read it, and don't complain about it. I will put a warning up over each entry if I feel that it needs one.
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◆The Wolf and the Sheep◇
Under the lone tree
On the grassy plains
Lies a wolf, and a sheep
Both crippled and pained
The sheep cowers
Eyes fearful and wide
Under the piercing yellow gaze
Of the wolf bleeding on its side
“Do not worry my friend,
You are hurt, just as I
My pack has thrown me out.”
It said with a sigh
“I grieve so much,
There’s pain in my heart.
Believe me when I say
I won’t tear you apart.”
The sheep lowered its head
“I, too, am grieving.
My herd left me when I fell
Even when my sides were still heaving.”
The two conversed
Sharing sorrow and regret
They became friends
And were less upset
Still crippled and broken
Two days have passed
The wolf watched as
The sheep chewed on grass
The wolf growled, teeth bared
It was hungry, bloodthirsty
But it fought on, held back
Its jaws were shut tersely
It called the sheep’s name
On a moonless night
“I don’t want to eat you
Because it wouldn’t be right
But my body is failing
My sanity dissipating!
I don’t have any choice
Already fate is waiting.”
It lunged forward, eyes gleaming
The sheep’s lungs filled with dread
It bleated helplessly but
The wolf jumped over its head
Hooves tremble and shake
Green grass painted red
Tears down the sheep’s face
The wolf lay dead
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very lovely, a beautifully sad story! i tend to like sad ones best...
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This is really beautifully sad
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A promise kept at a very steep personal cost...
From an Alpha, thank you for the story and the portrayal of integrity to the end.
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◆ On Bad Days ◇
On my bad days,
i open notebooks like bibles and hold pens like lifelines.
i keep opening the book of my memories
just to see if it still leaves a bruise.
tonight, i am imprisoned behind the bars of your hand
tonight, your ghost is in my bed. i can't sleep there,
so again-
again i find myself miles from home
wishing on stars i can't see
and spitting memories into the ocean like watermelon seeds.
i sit on the floor like driftwood and send my shivers into texts
like letters i never should have mailed.
on my bad days,
i wear guilt like handcuffs,
like i just don't know when to let go.
i get lost between the crossroads of time and hold tea that's long since gone cold
as hours escape like small birds set free.
i forget to open the blinds
and take my gun from the nightstand drawer
its normal to get worse as things get better, at first.
but on the bad days its hard to see the 'better'
and i'm starting to believe happiness and god are mythical creatures on nights
when there are too many bruises and and not enough stars.