The post Haiku of the Morning Fog appeared first on Alexander Wolf Writings.

There he stood,
Silent…
In front of his love,
Watching her,

With grief…
In silence…
Lonely, in the cold…
And she looked through him.

There he stood,
Silent…
The Ghost of the Wolf,
Watching his long forgotten love…

He followed,
Her lonely steps,
He swallowed,
His long forgotten words…

She might felt the cold touch,
She might heard the silent words,
But she did not turn around…
Just went on, like flying birds…

A cold and dark figure,
Appeared for the lass…
That was the figure,
Of a long forgotten glass…

A Wolf…
Like no other…
A Wolf…
From her very past…

But there she stood,
Seeing nothing,
Feeling the cold,
And hearing nothing.

Although,
She knew…
She knew…
But she did nothing…

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The post Yearning for Moonshadow appeared first on Alexander Wolf Writings.

Standing guard at the edge of the Unknown,
among and before dancing lights that call forlorn.
From the void casted throne fare the thorny cone.
O! Fyr what I feel, alas, I pine for thine morn.

The post Ode to Fyr appeared first on Alexander Wolf Writings.

The furry stalkers, deprived,
hungry they are, yet it waits.
The leaders of the pack retreat.
And we are yet to ponder prices.

They hide and observe.
Lurking, concealed by the shadows.
But tricks they try to make!
We are adamant, unyielding, but in fear.

Countless pairs of eyes, they starve,
in hunger, the prowlers of meadows,
are awaiting our demise. Awake!
Men of the fort! Hold tight your spear!

Wolves encircle the walls.
They are waiting peacefully.
Observing us yet – plans arise!
We are doomed! Yet to die…

During the night we hear the calls.
The gates are open, they came easily.
In sheep’s clothing, with bloody lies!
Only the wilderness hears the last cry!

The post Wolves at the Gates II appeared first on Alexander Wolf Writings.

Wolves prowl before the gates,
lurking and sneaking about the walls.
Asking eventually for admittance.
At first, as they appear at our doorstep.

After, they demand! Amidst growls,
we shut it tight, keeping them out.
But they still encircle the walls.
Lurking in the shadows, they wait.

They have the time to observe,
to weary us out. But… we don’t.
We are short and feeble, outsiders,
not native to this land. Yet, we wait.

They still ask, and we answer!
Stand our grounds that we do!
So sounds the joint and loud no!
Then once again they demand…

Time’s on their side.
Faith has abandoned us.
Gods of this land frown.
But they judge us, play us.

And the wolves are just there.
Sometimes they disappear,
giving us small hope of yielding.
But they always return – ‘tis their game.

We are abandoned, forgotten!
No help comes! Yet, we wait.
Our numbers are dwindling…
Yet, we wait… for help must come!

And once it arrives… it arrived!
In sheep’s clothing they arrived.
And we opened the gates,
let them in and welcomed them!

With open arms…
and then they murdered us.
The sheep with bloody fangs!
They! The wolves at the gates…

Tricking us! And now we fall…
Fallen to their tricks and illusions.
Black magicks… or godly jokes.
We may not know it all.

Unsuspecting, yet fellable,
for we were desperate!
Awaiting help!
But it was just a game…

For the Gods of this land!
A joke, a trick…
A great laughter,
nonetheless.

The post Wolves at the Gates appeared first on Alexander Wolf Writings.

So mighty and royal.
The vile visitor of my dreams
that aristocratic elegance.
Yet you are disloyal…
Your tongue, different streams
it seeks without vigilance.

Chiselled body,
black hair as blanket,
honoured and blessed
with the silver lining.
You majestic and proud Stallion!
O! Blasphemy! O!

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