Poetry...

The Curse

By: David Frazier

Abandoned Towers look out over the moor

The thick fog rolls in from the sea.

The curse of the werewolf in my veins

When the Wolf Bane blooms.

I howl at the full moon

Soon I'll come after you.

The pentagram appears on your hand

Means you're next to die.

The transformation is almost complete

Hair grows thicker, I'm up on my paws.

I drool and gnarl as I take flight

Creeping silently through the night

Hunting for you.

Face to face, I attack

Blood flows from wounds deep.

Stop me now, if you can

Use pure silver, pierce my skin.

Bullets silver hit vital organs

I can have eternal peace.

But another I have bitten

Will take my place,

When the moon is full again.

© David Frazier