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Wolves
Nov 15, 2005 15:05:06 GMT -5
Post by artanaro on Nov 15, 2005 15:05:06 GMT -5
The moonlight gently caresses the sleeping forest It glows pale And the trees they tremble When the expressionless wind blows All seems still, all seems old The wolves gather in their secret councils Staring at the moon And they speak the language of the stars
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Wolves
Nov 15, 2005 15:06:17 GMT -5
Post by artanaro on Nov 15, 2005 15:06:17 GMT -5
The night falls the moon is full The pack gathers eager for the hunt They howl with joy feeling the pull of Isil Each wolf howls out its desire As the flames of dreams grows higher and higher Now they run connected and free Swiftly and silently under the trees Isil rises higher into the sky and the wolves grow stronger sailing upon the breeze The pull of blood and tearing of flesh Do their senses now enmesh Here I stand under these ancient trees I reach out and I hear their call Of blood and flesh and prey to fall I share their joy and join their howl I wear the darkness as a cowl Still they run and I see through their eyes Of things they love and that which they despise But one stands in front of me With eyes closed I clearly see His thought intrudes into my mind But fear nor hate he does not feel He once taught me many things Long ago he showed me how the forest sings He stares with his piercing yellow eyes Remembrance in him now does arise! I share with him all I've known And I felt respect in him so seldom shown
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