This poem was written about a group of werewolves fighting to free prisoners.
To the eye it seems so clear, fresh and bright your eyes do meet.
yet the hidden atmosphere is so dark and foul beneath.
As I walk these hidden paths where the dream of joy is sold,
shadows that a deep grief casts make strange patterns, forms untold
Thus I know I must take heed
And I feel it rise, my fear
That my nightmares I will meet .
Next to me though stands a friend, one I’ve trusted all along,
one who often gave a hand, so dependable and strong,
though he shivers when he too feels the call of grief so deep,
that runs heart and soul straight through, makes the halls and stairs so steep,
and the walk seems endless long
as by the door we hold and stand
and I KNOW something is wrong.
The door opens with a creak, and I see no light, nowhere,.
but a rotting stench, a reek of blood and pain comes to my air,
and I hear a rustling sound, a soft moan in darkness deep,
while I rustles, places count, the room four people here must keep,
another step gone down the stair
and my eyes used to the bleak
see the enemies out there.
They hold prisoners so tight, trembling souls that only pant,,
not a sound, but stench of fright, assaults my nose, I lift my hand,
shuffling growls are heared of threat, if we do not now relent,
they will die a horrid death, massacred where they now stand.
Thus I stammer, and each hand
is clenched in a fist real tight,
but their death -I- would repent.
Then I hear a sudden sound, and my friend has moved so fast
that I stand, he does astound, friend and foe as he flicks past ,
and Arianna moves with him, casts a glance to left and right,
At her gestures fast and trim, the foes prepare themselves for fight,
And I stand, surprised, aghast,
as they wildly look around,
then attack each other fast.
Blood and hair flies all around, as they fight and rip and growl,
and their actions all astound, as one dies with a great howl,
and Mash jumps in to the last, and he angrily does kill
what the other foe did last of his brother, fights untill
only death’s rictus of a scowl
can be seen, their deathcries sound
as Mash’s frontpaws hack and maul.
The prisoners are then grabbed tight, taken quickly far away,
from that place without a light, without fresh air, where they did stay.
Now they’re safe, they live, they breathe, they know life and love again,
but some hold fear, in anger seethe, or are filled with deep deep pain.
so I wonder every day
will their fears and griefs alight?
or will the shadows ever stay..