Brain Bits To Go

NaPoWriMo and the creative well has yet to run dry. Here is the fourth poem of the month. Only twenty six to go! Enjoy.

Lycanthrope

I feel the moon drag at my soul
Just like it pulls the tide.
And when it grows all round and full
It rips my soul aside.

The beast within now free to roam
No conscience or remorse.
I slaughter, rage and hunt and run
And howl myself hoarse.

This is my curse, this is my life
You cannot comprehend.
How truly like a God you feel
With every life you end.

But now the moon has set again
I am once more a man.
I rail against this curse I bear
Again my death I plan.

I try so hard yet cannot take
The one life that I should.
For though I know the beast within
There also is still good.

So hunt me down with silvered shot
Let slip the baying hounds.
If you can lift this curse from me
Lay me in hallowed grounds.

Cheers, Winston