Fellwolf

I miss the rules of that world. I miss linear time and three dimensional space. I miss the place where ‘I’ had meaning. It was your world. You built it to your own rules. I know that now. But I didn’t then. It is as futile as missing a dream. It was beautiful in its transience. You were never there, then? No. Then why do you care? Because all you can ever know, all that can ever be meaningful, are the contents of your own mind. Because you can never tell what is real and what is dream. Because maybe there is no difference between the two. Because you can make something from nothing and mourn the loss of that which was ne

Once, we soared on dreamer's wings Marvelling at the vista of our potential; Till glutted on wasted time we lost our way Yet plunged on, heedless, Recklessly seeking boundaries to our mortality. Drunk on despair, we forgot we could fly And crawled instead, blinded By dust and recollected glory. We are what remains when hope fails; Futile yearning without release As the future dissolves in to the past, And even dreams are bleak And fade on waking.

We build our own tradgedies, Lovingly piling brick on brick as we wait For the optimum time to tear down the walls And allow reality to smother us. We mock ourselves with dreams; Subconscious images of what cannot be Form a mortar of self deceit That crumbles under scrutiny. There are words that refuse to be articulated, Diffusing meaninglessly across synapses- Becoming lost before they reach existence. And so we hide in our illusory shelters, Eyes stitched shut against the shadows of truth That slip through the cracks of our darkness. [And still I wonder what could be]

We swore that we would never change- Those were dreams born In long hours spent staring at night skies Making pictures out of clouds, sure That wishing on stars was all it took. Our imaginations bore us far and The future stretched beyond us- We leapt to meet it gladly, unaware How one day we would drag our feet At the thought of leaving. In the days before we met the world We were happy, mostly; And we never knew.

I was never meant to grow old. A fragment of laughter on a sunny day, A flash of a grin amongst the leaves, These were the memories I was meant to leave behind me [Each a glowing shard That would always hurt to touch]. The brightest flame uses tinder fastest; Mine was consumed racing over cliff tops And gazing avidly at the flights of birds As I waited for you to catch me. Better to burn out than to fade away- I was never meant to grow old.

If hurting is a sign of healing, We should have been whole again Long since. Sometimes, I think we cling to these deformities; Hiding behind old wounds That once wept trust And couldn't be patched by innocence. Once I believed in a language that represented thoughts And in smiles that reflected hearts- But everyone has forgotten they wear masks And cannot be honest even if they try. Once I believed in people with futures- But now the future seems to lead to the past And I've forgotten where we started. And I wonder how much longer it will take to get better When I finally decide to let myself recover.

The cloaked figure padded softly through the pouring rain, purple eyes glinting out from beneath his cowl. He glanced dispassionately at the burned-out husk of the village that stood before him- the damage was recent, but the downpour had already put an end to the smoking of the charred timbers. He had not anticipated that the raiders from the North would have come here, but then he had never been foolish enough to think that he had been given all the information in this situation anyway. "Find the werewolf," they had told him. Vague instructions, of course, but from previous experience he had anticipated no less from his current employers. W

'What happens now?' He mouths, but 'I can't do this' his eyes whisper In tears that trickle down my neck. And I wonder when it came to this, Stolen moments on train platforms As we feel the future's impersonal gaze Tearing us apart. I saw a bird in the road today; It's body was flat, but It's wings uplifted, And I know how it feels to think you're flying. And the question still hangs.

The four Garou clustered outside the cave, alternately pacing and huddling together to protect themselves against the chill of the winter's first snowfall. The weather was not yet severe, and occasionally a gust of wind would blow a gap in the heavy clouds above through which Luna could be seen in her full splendour- the cub being birthed within that cave tonight would be Ya'phae- if it survived. Fangs-of-the-Blizzard spat on the frozen ground in disgust. "Why do we wait here?" The warrior growled. "The family carries witch blood anyway. Dances-in-the-Moonlight deserves to face what she brought upon herself alone." The others glanced at him

'I am your God now!' The scream of commercialism Transmuted through smiling TV families And coloured billboard ads; Demanding we worship it By paying out tithes to decorated stores, Trying to buy happiness   For those we know, and for ourselves. 'It is in giving that we receive,' And these words now are doubly true, As we exchange our gifts and false smiles Over dinner and the revival of family feuds. And on the frosted sill a robin bobs, Beaded eyes surveying us curiously as We slump vacantly before movie re-runs And watch 'Babe' for the millionth time. And on a shelf somewhere sits a plastic god Dreaming of a time when he