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Flat
Roadkill diaries Are quickly done The words fall flat
Counting Sheep
I'm a white sheep In the wrong herd I'm a black sheep In a sea of white No matter where I go I will not follow blind Or let myself be forced To go in a direction That I did not choose -Kel Dayheart
Prowling Howls
As the creature prowls It hears a great howl That makes its great jowl Open to form fierce-some growls It could almost be called a scowl Upon its face. The peace is now a foul Heard in the distance hoots of owls -Kel Dayheart
The Hunt is on
The trees seem to tower As they brush against the sky
Fragment of a Figment 