There are those who call my kind monster.
They don't understand.
Can never understand
the beauty of the night.
Cool summer breezes ruffling through your fur.
The feel of midnight dew,
cool under your warm paws.
Pearlescent moonlight glittering,
sparkling off clear, mountain fed springs.
The rich, gamey taste of a freshly taken deer.
The thrill of running through the forest,
brothers and sisters hunting at your side.
We are not monsters or savages.
Nor are we beasts, murderers, or killers.
We are the bards of the wilderness,
Singing at the pale wonder of the full moon.
In our mournful song lies the truth,
the primal essence of life.
Baby thieves, abominations;
Creatures of death and destruction.
Labels unjustly branded to us,
by a few renegades and rogues
whom are driven insane by the turning.
Cruel brutes even before, as mortals.
Do not judg us,
for mere humans will never know the beauty,
the sheer wonder of the world we live in.
For we are the Chosen.
We are the Lupine.
We are Wolf.
Silver trophy winner
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