Silver streaks stream across the dark
You must login to vote
leaving remnants of their figures
impressed upon the dark full-bloomed night.
a surrounding sound
echoing into the night sky,
shattered by a lone howl,
but followed by many more.
The night becomes a concerto of white fangs
and singsongs of wolves.
Not a dreary night,
but a night of rippling muscles,
panting breaths and sweat.
Speed so swift,
paws barely touch the ground.
Not an illusion nor a delusion,
but surreal, yet so real.
Silver streaks of fur
filling the gaps between the thickets of the trees,
flashing across the dark-soaked scenery
the way a strobe light does,
making everything play in a slow jumping motion.
A feather falls side to side.
A crying raven reacts to the wake of the night.
Above the moon governs all,
reflecting off the eyes of its subjects.
Hearts pounding so hard,
threatening to shatter the golden cage that imprisons them.
They run with the wind,
the children of the moon and this-
they are the muscles of the forest.
Freedom is what drives them.
Blood is the lining of life.
Hardly a reverie,
but a camoflauged reality
that only those with the eyes of night can see.