Cast out,
into the caliginous;
gloaming.

To the snarly,
towering street lamps.

Stationary,
and, flickering;
eyes of yellow,
that turn,
the night-sky, into,
a den of wolves.

Howling,
yowling comets,
and, stalking stars,
creep surreptitiously,
lifting, south-facing,
neck hairs.

In a desperate, despairing
Lupine dance,
of; torrential raindrop tears,
and, tumid, cloudy faced,
embarrassment.

The wolfpack claws
at worn, and, torn,
thoughts.
Making;
a moonlit meal,
of an already,
full-
plate.

And, in the midnight witching hour,
the only solace, to be found,
is in, an; outcasted;
lone-wolf.

Alone, yet, bravely; scintillated, by lunar luminescence.

Casting prophetic, portented; shadows, anew.

Without; a family, a care, or, a past.

©poormansdreams
@poormansdreams
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