Silver Bullet
I guess the clue to what this poem is all about is in the title...
I fear the rising of the full moon.
It drives me mad.
No, not mad... Not mad...
Insane!
Just a shiny shimmering balloon of light floating carelessly in a star speckled stygian sea, but its silvery beams will bring me so much misery.
Misery, and indescribable, excruciating pain. Torturous fiery pain.
I loathe the full moon.
I despise its power over me, the way its cold hoary light strikes the change in me.
The way it makes my flesh crawl and burn white hot with hellish fire.
I curse the full moon as I hide in cool shadows, shivering, weeping... hoping.
It won't happen this time...
Not this time...
Not this time...
Please God...
No use.
As the moonlight chases away the shadows concealing me, I feel a bitter insufferable searing pain begin to surge through my body.
In unimaginable agony I twist and turn and tear at my clothes and scream at the full moon as bones twist and crack, muscles rip, fingers curl, nails claw, spine curves, ears extend, gums bleed, teeth sharpen, nose and jaw and tongue draw out.
None should have to endure such a terrible torment.
None!
And when the pain finally subsides, I lay weak and panting, waiting for strength to slowly return.
And when it does...
Oh, when it does.
I howl at the moon and lope silently through a forest of tall trees bathed in a beautiful silvery light.
The smell, ah, the sweet, sweet smell of pine wood and fresh green dewy grass.
The cool night wind gently strokes my furred face.
I am intoxicated. I am happy. Truly happy.
The full moon holds no terror for me now.
Abruptly, I feel a hunger, a ravenous hunger.
I must eat. I must devour fresh meat and drink warm blood.
For I am WOLFEN.
There is no choice.
My instinct is to survive!
Cunningly I stalk my prey.
I catch my prey.
I kill my prey.
The kill is mercifully swift.
After the kill I eat my fill and then…
Sleep.
A deep, deep dreamless sleep.
‘Til the early morning sun rises, warming the damp earth and draping my naked and bloodied human form in a fine dewy mist.
I detest the sun!
I despise its power over me, the way its golden radiant light awakens me, and forces me to suffer a pain infinitely worse than the cruel, cursed pain of wolfen transformation.
A pain that cuts deep into my immortal soul.
The insufferable pain of lucid memory.
Savage, unforgiving memory.
The relentless heart rending pain of interminable remorse and tear filled pity for my luckless prey.
The agony of knowing the full moon will rise once again.
I will change once again.
I cannot help it!
I cannot stop it!
I cannot even take my own life.
Such is the curse of the wolfen.
Only one who truly, truly loves me has the power to end this miserable, wretched existence.
With a single silver bullet!
And I swear, by all that is sacred, if I could find someone;
if I could find just one who could love me enough.
I would take that silver bullet…
Gladly.
It drives me mad.
No, not mad... Not mad...
Insane!
Just a shiny shimmering balloon of light floating carelessly in a star speckled stygian sea, but its silvery beams will bring me so much misery.
Misery, and indescribable, excruciating pain. Torturous fiery pain.
I loathe the full moon.
I despise its power over me, the way its cold hoary light strikes the change in me.
The way it makes my flesh crawl and burn white hot with hellish fire.
I curse the full moon as I hide in cool shadows, shivering, weeping... hoping.
It won't happen this time...
Not this time...
Not this time...
Please God...
No use.
As the moonlight chases away the shadows concealing me, I feel a bitter insufferable searing pain begin to surge through my body.
In unimaginable agony I twist and turn and tear at my clothes and scream at the full moon as bones twist and crack, muscles rip, fingers curl, nails claw, spine curves, ears extend, gums bleed, teeth sharpen, nose and jaw and tongue draw out.
None should have to endure such a terrible torment.
None!
And when the pain finally subsides, I lay weak and panting, waiting for strength to slowly return.
And when it does...
Oh, when it does.
I howl at the moon and lope silently through a forest of tall trees bathed in a beautiful silvery light.
The smell, ah, the sweet, sweet smell of pine wood and fresh green dewy grass.
The cool night wind gently strokes my furred face.
I am intoxicated. I am happy. Truly happy.
The full moon holds no terror for me now.
Abruptly, I feel a hunger, a ravenous hunger.
I must eat. I must devour fresh meat and drink warm blood.
For I am WOLFEN.
There is no choice.
My instinct is to survive!
Cunningly I stalk my prey.
I catch my prey.
I kill my prey.
The kill is mercifully swift.
After the kill I eat my fill and then…
Sleep.
A deep, deep dreamless sleep.
‘Til the early morning sun rises, warming the damp earth and draping my naked and bloodied human form in a fine dewy mist.
I detest the sun!
I despise its power over me, the way its golden radiant light awakens me, and forces me to suffer a pain infinitely worse than the cruel, cursed pain of wolfen transformation.
A pain that cuts deep into my immortal soul.
The insufferable pain of lucid memory.
Savage, unforgiving memory.
The relentless heart rending pain of interminable remorse and tear filled pity for my luckless prey.
The agony of knowing the full moon will rise once again.
I will change once again.
I cannot help it!
I cannot stop it!
I cannot even take my own life.
Such is the curse of the wolfen.
Only one who truly, truly loves me has the power to end this miserable, wretched existence.
With a single silver bullet!
And I swear, by all that is sacred, if I could find someone;
if I could find just one who could love me enough.
I would take that silver bullet…
Gladly.
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