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The Beast

Silently stalking the darkness I tread,
Roaming the still of the night
Searching and hungering,
Seeking my bread
The red of the blood and the white
Of the flesh of young lovers,
Devoted and chaste,
Betrayed by the fates that they trust
Slavering, thirsting, and longing to taste
Made mad by a ravening lust.

Quietly crouching I stop in the shade
A shadow's black spirit to steal
No sound of breathing, no noise is made
No sign that my quarry might feel
Some slight inner warning, or voice from above,
Betraying my dank, muffled breath
No, nothing can save
From the jaws of the beast,
Or stave off appointments with death.

Dragging them down, slashing their veins,
Letting the crimson run free
Revel vicariously in their demise,
Relishing their misery.
Morning will come as I feast on my kill,
Meat and blood tearing away,
Yes, beasts have been beasts,
And we always will be,
And I'll have you for dinner someday.

Learn more about this author, Dan Birchall.
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