Oh bulll!!!!! Wait I mixed the whole poem up when the title merged into the first verse....
A Werewolf and the Moon
Staring woefully at Her,
I sit listlessly downing the bitter liquor.
She calls to me a silent siren,
More entrancing than Lord Byron.
The blood-red Moon she signals to me,
Desperate I struggle to break free.
These iron chains bind me to a curse,
Condemned to an eternal thirst.
The clock strikes a sinister twelve,
Into a Feral hell I know I must delve.
My soul it trembles and shrivels,
An ancient battle of accursed devils.
My primal instincts grow stronger.
My mind is possessed human no longer.
My resistance crumbles and shatters asunder.
My body intend on vicious murder.
The Brethren call for me,
Only they hold the Cure and Key.
Whither shall I painfully go?
To treat them as friend or foe?
The dreaded fur pierces as I falter,
My pupils widen, their colours alter.
The Human in me is finally dead,
The emotions in my eyes ominously fade.
The Moon's silvery tones and voice,
Cruelly drain me of my own choice.
I cannot restrain the overwhelming tide,
The Wolf in me stirs where it resides.
I tear and rip at my chest,
Nothing can behold me I withstood Time's Test.
The hot saliva coats my long teeth,
I crave the Holy Waters of the Church's priest.
My limbs lengthen; I walk on all fours,
As I smash through the magnificent oak doors.
Snarling I spit vehemently on the fields,
Graveyard of my merciless kills.
The Moon controls me like a marionette,
It has all been a glittery masquerade.
My hunger knows no bounds,
My razor claws rake at the grounds.
A faithful servant of darkness,
Patter of heavy feet in the forest.
Twin crimson spots flit at the flimsy gate,
Cloaked in malevolence and pure hatred.
I howl aimlessly for my true brothers,
Shunning all the others.
My mournful cry rocks everyone to the core,
Wild splashing of blood and gore.
People bolt their wooden houses,
Lowering already hush whispers.
My name speaks of dread and despair,
One of Nature's ruthless Corsairs.
Cold winds ripples my hide,
None but the Moon as a guide.
A shapeless shadow silently running,
Mouth agape, tongue hanging.
Hated and feared creature of the night,
I am the Infernal Blight.
Without a thought I stalk and slaughter,
Amidst the crunching of bone and hyena laughter.
I am more than a terrifying nightmare,
To challenge me none will dare.
My bite carries the Curse,
Wallowing in decay fully immersed.
Flee, flee behold I descend,
No stronghold will suffice to defend.
A maelstorm of pure hate,
My hunger will never abate.
The thrill of midnight hunts,
Under the spell of a trance,
Satisfy the growing hunger,
And across the plains I wander.
The Moon how she torments me on the rack,
To lie bloated on the essence of the infected.
Vile and immortal desecrator of tombs.
A Werewolf and the Moon.
Oh adn Parsat...I wrote it in May, but tweaked it a little....I know oh well...can it still be accepted? *looks at rules*
