Lindsey Wolf

Lindsey Wolf Poems

Knee high, ripples and wades.
Brutality. Puncturing the dirt.
Where spring blossoms once would flirt.

A blind woman, a deaf man
coming together the best they can.
Sounds of a voice, movement of fingers,
lost of one while the other steadfast lingers.

Is the year worth the time?
I've yet to decide.
I suppose this is how it was designed,
we are all but etchings washed away by tide.

The smell of her favorite perfume
swallowed up by yarn fibers
ghosts of the same smell loom
picking flowers that still haven't bloomed.

There is a man dressed in black, disguising his face.
He often vacations in the misery of humans,
delivering his envelopes at night, decoyed in red lace.

If only I had knew,
all that had gone wrong.
The battle being waged within you,
hidden behind strength for so long.

The car halted within the crowd of fans
The soprano voices screaming. the rabid girls.
All come to see one God-like man
As he kisses goodbye to the girl with the dark curls.

There is an uproar in my town
Parents all hide away their young.
Hiding from a creature emerging as the sun goes down.
80 pounds of fur, clipped Yoda ears making chewbacca sounds.

With youth comes happiness, or so they say.
Yet happiness is absent for those
who have been pushing youth away.

Just a couple miles from the city
there is a town.
Everything is blood-stained and filthy
nestled between white-fenced suburbs

I watch my reflection before the mirror
filled with emotion
over come with tears
the figure in the glass watches my every motion


I feel the magic on my finger tips
these words dancing behind my lips
the fire of inspiration to free and let rip

Away from the sacred battleground
Every breath of life never to be found
The tear-less blood of those before us
Where the bodies lie of those who bore us

One year to today,
And there I would have found you
In that hospital bed where you lay,
Suffering, your only digested food.

The Best Poem Of Lindsey Wolf

Dirt & Dust

Knee high, ripples and wades.
Brutality. Puncturing the dirt.
Where spring blossoms once would flirt.

The birds sing no more,
gone from trees that were once stored.
Wells' water once was clean,
now taken up a red gleam.

Where there is dust of our ancestor's bones,
it is where the weeds are best grown.
Where the bodies once laid,
is where the dogs will stray.

Do you care about your family so lame
to destroy the land on which we became?
a cigarette burned legacy,
alcohol tainted blood inside of me.

Lindsey Wolf Comments

Lindsey Wolf Popularity

Lindsey Wolf Popularity

Error Success