Lycanthrope

Walk into the lupanar,
Moonlight bathing your skin,
Feelings lurk and stir below,
Breaking the surface, so weak and thin.

You lose your control as the pack members howl,
Running wild as the were meant to be,
You throw back your head and join the chorus of howls,
Slowly your beast breaks free.

Bones shift and crack and change their shape,
As the claws burst forth from your nails,
The pain blossoms through you as your body shifts,
Other wolves begin to howl as you wail.

Your face changes shape with two amber drops in the middle,
The beast staring out from your eyes,
The first scent of the night hits your sensitive nose,
Hunger rising, so long denied.

The fur ripples down your body and back,
Your senses alive with the night,
The forest receives you like an old lonesome lover,
Your eyes see the dark beauty without fierce light.

The change is complete sand you sit there panting,
You get to your feet and begin a chase,
The moon shining down on her loving children,
Playing, yipping, turning food to a race.

These are the werewolves,
Those who chase through the moonlight forests of night,
Shying away from all but their pack,
Watching as one after another change under the moonlight.

As they shed their skin and change their form,
Intoxicated by their senses and the moons sway,
At the lupanar, the wolves bay at the moon,
Saying clearly, lycanthropes are here to stay.

© Copyright of Holly Nia Goodson