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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Horror/Scary · #705994
the myth of the werewolf through my eyes
The Moon's Children


Ripe and fat in the heavens,
Its veins blood-red in hate.
It calls the sickness forward:
And our Hunt begins.

We are the Moon's childen,
Our powers are many-fold.
Our gift (damnation) is strong:
And our Hunt begins.

With yellowed and sharpen claws,
And flesh-rending fangs,
Blessed in our Father's name:
And our Hunt begins.

An evil as ancient as time,
Threaded throughout the land.
Where men and wolves collide:
And our Hunt begins.

Now is the time we Seek,
Now is the time we Feast,
Now is the time we Pray.
Bless those who hunger.

Run, running, sprinting,
Heeding the call of the killing hour.
Lulled by the song of spilt blood:
Driven by Desire and Lust.

Good health to the old and weak,
They are the Feast.
Good health to the young and strong,
Their blood is better.

Hunted by spirits,
Haunted by gods long forgotten.
Trapped inside Sins past:
And our Hunt ends.

Lunar discorporation,
The tides rise and the sands shift.
We peak at our Feast:
And our Hunt ends.

Three quarters in shadow,
Time shifting in spark.
Till the killing Moon once more:
And the time has come to devolve.
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