The Lone Wolf. . .


Alone it walks…  Alone it stalks.

Looking for a feast, or a similar beast

The protector of its realm,

The wearer of the crown

The unholy king,

 Of all nightly things

Born without fear,

This bearer of terror feeds with a mocking leer

Its purpose is to breed,

To survive and feed,

It has no other need,

Except to simply be,

You will never know he is near,

Of him you will not hear,

A howl off in the moonlight,

A shadow out of sight,

For him murder means life,

Your death to him is right.

For no other did he stalk,

But for he alone, who dare to walk!
Miranda Bachman
Copyright 2010