Cry Wolf

Alone I stand…not entirely myself, I suffer a cold grip not given by my hand.
By a tear of agony that drops below the eye, a moonlit transformation
concealed within a noble pride.
A bloodline mortal, though ravenous behavior be gave,
a hunger saturating, human flesh I crave.
Some of past would say that a curse has become my sire,
to speak of truth is to know that Hell is NOT shrouded in fire.
A metamorphosis complete, a howl for my humanity’s retreat.
A beast of mystic rhyme of old, how true those fables had reflected,
to myself they once were told.
Saddened by this unholy path I create, an uncontrollable lust for
blood just will not dissipate.
Trapped by powers that I had wished to purge,
thoughts no longer humane, a dire need to quench an immoral thirst of flames. What is to be gained by those who’ve been slain,
a reluctant howl found below an innocent shame.
Who is thy god that would let such tragedy occur?,
who should I kneel before when the change obscures?
Never can I blame a curse that leaves me within a dream,
as I dwell into the darkness that can not hear my screams.
So be it in the epitaph read: He who cried wolf shall laugh beyond the grave, when all is done and said.

David Lee

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