Werewolf
Lust for blood
when the moon is high
primitive instinct
in the wolves’ cry
The call of hunger
to everyone near
those that fall prey
hide with fear.
Whispers from the wind
swaying the trees, moving the leaves
not sure what you heard
running faster trying to flee.
The white moon growing brighter
on each tree around the loch
knowing your at the end
between the water and the rocks.
The scream can’t escape
from the throat that once was yours.
It now lies in his belly
as he rests on all fours.
You were warned never to go
into the forest around the lake
especially with the harvest moon
bringing the werewolves awake.
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