The Wolf

Not really a poem, i guess, but I think it fits in here well.

Aesthetically profound, this image of a lengthy dress accompanied by a naive, but hearted smile.

Like looking onto the ruins of "once was" Greece; in total admiration. Like gazing upon the Earth from a passing comet , the sight of a lone mountain tiled with diamonds among dirt hills; you've caught my eye. In the depths of an insoluble angst, your teratoid of an anger stretches my smiles into frowns. My eyes drain of compliance, that's okay. I can't agree with you any longer. The throes of your distinguishable intolerance has knocked my faith unconscious;  my hope unable. But that's okay, I've learned to cope. If you were a penny I had as a child, I surely now hold diamonds. Your "two faced' schematic will be ousted by my demeanor's shine, and not even I, will flip that coin and take that chance again. You're the devil's writer, the ink of his infernal wrath, and I swear, I believe hell hath no fury like a childish woman.

 

            Perhaps in another hell, you can be the one whom punishes me; this hierarchy of insults ends now. I am the writer of my book, the conjurer of my soul, the note my spirit screams. I have not climbed my way out from the depths of your magma, to be afraid of coming storm. The challenge is to balance my feelings, not my thoughts; for my thoughts are sincere, unconditional to a healthy extent, fearless like the hoplites of Ancient Greece, but just as welcoming. I will not feed the wolf inside to kill, but to protect; but you… You have shaken that wolf rabidly. You have forced him to bite back, you have provoked him and he will defend himself. The wolf, though unwilling, is quite able. You have fed him bullshit, and in his malnourished and undermined soul, he became something to be feared, an arsenal of depth and confidence;  he is what you have worried about; unconditional.

 

            His wounds, memories. His thoughts, composed. His will, unequivocal. You have pushed a human to his knees. But I will stand, and I will face you. I smile in confidence, because I know. We all know, you're a fraudulent excess of human thought; sponging any remnants another leaves behind. I despise you, and I hope you choke. You might be ideal to my history; an important structure within my mind, but you are just that, and only that; ruins. Ruins of what was once great, but is now a hopeless, crumbling dystopia.