Raised By Wolves

I bleed rhapsody's of darkness
within my boiling memory.

Softly kissing words in rhyme,
like a well knitted blanket.

Often times I twist a metaphoric
brain freeze, confusing even me.

It turns out, that I really was raised
by wolves, because I have yet
to see another old tree that dips
her roost in ink, because her leaves
are far too busy creating chaos,
frolicking within the wind....