Cycle of the Wolf

Throughout his soul there burns an inescapable thrill For tonight he shall feast on one's flesh that he will kill A flame of pure blood-lust and hunger sears his mind As he thinks of all the kills that he's made time after time His teeth all lengthen into razor-sharp white fangs As the moon climbs the night sky heightening his hunger pangs His fingers all draw back turning his hands into paws As from their fusing joints like swords unsheathed emerge his claws He feels a wrenching pain and he hears a whip-like crack As his spine quickly shifts forming the dark creature's back He slowly shuts his eyes as his form ceases to shift Then the creature sadly moans as they close and seal the rift It opens wide its eyes and looks around to survey all Then bounds away to fill the night with its blood curdling call It comes upon its prey it can taste them they're so near And so quickly strikes not even one can scream in fear First it feeds then it sits down and with a stiffened tail It sends forth an eerie howl which sounds much like a mourner's wail Then in triumph it goes home and after crack and snap of bone Loss of razored fangs and claws weeps the man whose heart's not stone Now he weeps but when through his soul burns again that fated thrill He cries not for what he's done instead he craves for what he will