The Wolfpack

Some do…what others don’t…
Some cry, some frown.
Some slit their wrists when they’re down.
Others do what they find moving.
Creating something in the hopes of soothing. 
Their audience.

Some lock daylight out, making themselves an artificial night,
As their heart howls at the moon so bright.
They suffer their loneliness in isolation
…ironically.
Some forget their pain through helping others. 
Ironically.
But personally where I differ is I believe in self expression.
Than simply attempting repression of thoughts.
Because with passion and self expression comes healing, 
In due course

Some paint…
They empty their feelings onto a blank canvas that listens.
That will later stand proud in a gallery that glistens.
Presenting ideas to people, and giving life depth,
A positive outcome from a girl that wept.

Some sing…
It is their thing that can create empathy,
That dissolves the issues that are found mentally.
Again… inspiring others and giving life depth.
And all because a lyricist wept.

So as we stare up in the sky,
In the blunt darkness of night.
When my mind is far from narrow,
And my heart howls to the moonlight shadow.
I sit with the visionaries and the ideas they create.
As my heart cries in a lovesick state.
With my pack, we value the night.
As I side…with the ones that write.

 

Ryan Smith

The End

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