The Wolf In Me Poem by Joseph Skytta

As beast in the woods with fur and with fang,
Hunting in pack, together again,
The meal that hunts us is hunted the same,
We starve with the moon which does not remain,
Called monster by some and brother by own,
Licking the sinew and chewing the bone,
Eyes like the stars on winter night cold,
Skinned with a knife our pelts they are sold,
Your children endangered you wish not to be,
So killing and feeding on us you believe,
The strongest survive to keep you alive,
The wolf in me will bring out yours in time,
Angry alone and ravenous still,
Starving and hungry we wait at the mill,
For if one should stray and walk away,
Never return will be your dismay,
Sleeping by day and stalking by night,
Howling and cowling numbers are might,
Alone we fall to knife or gun,
When done with your meat our pack will be one,
Once man and not wild once I had believed,
Unconsidered ignored and diseased,
Twisted decayed in dirt as my wreathe,
Coming alive is the wolf that’s in me.