Theif of a summer's day,
Bandit of the light,
Find your hidden wolf
And devour the moonlit night.
Lover of the forest land,
Master of the dark,
Cast away your human fears
And tear the world apart.
Howl to the moon for what is gone
And what will never be,
Forget the lies of the human world.
The loup-garoux are free.
The rip of flesh and crack of bones
Are music to your ears.
You taste the blood, sweet crimson life,
Your senses sharp and clear.
Your paws beat the undergrowth
As your claws reach for speed.
The rich smells of a full moon night
Fill you with wild glee.
You are untouchable in your pelt,
A shadow beneath the sky.
Here, in the eternally dark forest,
The secrets of wolf-kind lie.
You know the moon will never last,
The day will soon arrive.
But still you are patient all month long,
For you are the last of your kind.
Author notes
This is a poem I wrote a really long time ago, but I lost the file... Then, I found it again on an old list of sent e-mails. I reread it and decided it wasn't so bad. I wrote this was way back from when I was in that werewolf stage, enthralled by the idea of humans changing into wolves. I thought about what it would be like to be a werewolf, and before I knew what had happened, I stared down at the page and saw this in front of me. I was actually kind of pleased with the result. It's such a dusty old relic from the earlier years of my writing, but I hope you liked it all the same.
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