August D. Howl /21 /Texas /Wordsmith/ Creative Commons License
This work is licensed.


When the war of the beasts brings about the world’s end
The goddess descends from the sky
Wings of light and dark spread afar
She guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting

Act I 
Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess
We seek it thus, and take to the sky
Ripples form on the water’s surface
The wandering soul knows no rest.

Act II 
There is no hate, only joy
For you are beloved by the goddess
Hero of the dawn, Healer of worlds

Dreams of the morrow hath the shattered soul
Pride is lost
Wings stripped away, the end is nigh

Act III 
My friend, do you fly away now?
To a world that abhors you and I?
All that awaits you is a somber morrow
No matter where the winds may blow

My friend, your desire
Is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess

Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return

Act IV 
My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams, no honor remains
The arrow has left the bow of the goddess

My soul, corrupted by vengeance
Hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey
In my own salvation
And your eternal slumber

Legend shall speak
Of sacrifice at world’s end
The wind sails over the water’s surface
Quietly, but surely

Act V 
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew that quenches the land
To spare the sands, the seas, the skies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice


2 years ago

Unkept Promises

There are ashes infused in torn wings.
I soar in this world no longer.

The days of fiery flight are gone,
And this phoenix is no more.

the american dream.

2 years ago

To George Zimmerman

Trayvon moved out of the hood,

And into a neighborhood.

But the neighborhood watch didn’t like that.



I hope the last words of Mr. Trayvon Martin

echo violently within the red pulp you call a heart.

They sure as hell are echoing in mine.


I hope his black words—follow you.

I hope that you relive that moment in your nightmares,

the moment you gunned down an unarmed

innocent 17 year old—

claiming “self defense,” tell me,

since when has a grocery bag

full of skittles ever been considered

a dangerous weapon?


I hope that you are damned to the 9th circle of hell.

I hope thunderclap gunshots deafen you while you’re there,

and Death’s eagles feed eternally on your eyes like



I am angry. Trayvon used to breathe just like you.

I wish I could meet you.

I’d say,

“Look me straight in my colored face and

allow me to enlighten you.”

It’s about time that human beings like you

stopped scraping by unnoticed.

You hazardous chameleon.

You won’t be invisible forever.


“Please, let me tell you something,

You have to understand.

You and me, we aren’t so different, you see.


We’re made from the same dirt.”


Do you dream in color?

Or are your lens black and white?


America is a phoenix promised dreams

unfulfilled broken fucked excuse of a country.


Fuck you. 

2 years ago

I want to write more poems about Greek Mythology/

2 years ago


I’m used to watching people’s backs.
It’s a feeling all too familiar
and I’ve seen all sorts of disasters.
But you’ve got three circles once freshly painted
red but now stained bruise blue.

Where ex-boyfriends would target practice at;
scars from where they backstabbed you.
I’m glad you’ve stopped living upside down.
Everything was crashing up for you.

My only question to you is:
How does it feel to live your life without a puppeteer?

2 years ago

Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden
And decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers
2 years ago

Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi, Who Says Words With My Mouth

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I’ll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

This poetry, I never know what I’m going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

2 years ago

My Little Brother Has Big Dreams, David J.

He is nineteen years old, six foot three inches tall,
and lives in my shadow.

His mouth coughs up failure and rage at expectation.

He does not realize that as the oldest sibling of seven,
expectation was placed on me like
a forest fire that never wanted to be lit—

before I was old enough to know
what the word “university” meant.

I am a fossil that cracks
at the thought of you being angry with me
for trying to lead by example.

You are not a failure; we are forged from fire, under pressure, always.

2 years ago

Basket Case, Basil T. Paquet

I waited eighteen years to become a man.
My first woman was a whore off Tu Do street,
But I wish I never felt the first wild
Gliding lust, because the rage and thrust
Of a mine caught me hip high.
I felt the rip at the walls of my thighs,
A thousand metal scythes cut me open,
My little fish shot twenty yards
Into a swamp canal.
I fathered only this-the genderless bitterness
Of two stumps, and an unwanted pity
That births the faces of all
Who will see me till I die deliriously
From the spreading sepsis that was once my balls.
1 year ago

I promise I’ll dish some poetry out after things calm down for me.

1 year ago
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