Werewolves

I gaze at the moonlight
Shimmering across the floor,
Its source, an orb,
Shining with a mystic glow,          
It’s pearl like beauty to illustrate,
It cannot resist
Through history it has been known
To revive a fearsome beast

The silence of the night,
Broken by a spine-tingling howl,
And if you listen closely,
You hear a bloodcurdling growl,
No hoot of an owl,
No crickets sounding shrill,
It’s the calm before the storm,
They are moving in for the kill.

Known by many names,
Werewolf being the most popular,
These creatures of the night,
Guided by activities, mostly lunar
Padded movements can be heard,
Massive paw prints lie on the ground,
I can only feel the suspense,
And lie still, not making a sound

Men are beasts on the inside,
It is a widely known fact,
Always taken figuratively,
Very few people know how much it is exact.
The growls turn vicious,
They have surrounded their prey,
For the poor soul caught in their midst,
Softly a prayer I say.

Trembling with fright,
Though he is no coward,
The beasts show no mercy,
And growling, lunge forward.
There is the tormenting sound
Of fangs on flesh
Never before have they smelled
Human blood so fresh.

With a terrible crack,
The neck and ribs are shattered
The beasts take pleasure in the meal,
And are well fed and watered
The moon goes behind the cloud,
While the beasts conclude their meal,
The orb emerges yet again
With moonlight falling like a veil

And so a month will pass,
Before they come to feast again
And life returns back to normal,
Until the return of the wolf-men.
I sit trembling in the shadows
Leaves rustling in the breeze,
The night lark begins whispering
To surrounding nature in soft ease.