Werewolf Poem by Gillian Commerford
Werewolf
Waiting for the silver bullet
howling at the moon.
All his pain in one last cry.
Men with guns and torches
are coming closer now.
In their eyes a savage lust.
Society must always kill
what it cannot understand.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: lust,silver
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8/28/2026 11:14:54 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
