The wolf is at the door.
He growls…I moan.
He knows I am in here,
Afraid and all alone.
The wolf is at the door.
He claws the ancient wood.
He knows I am behind it,
He knows I will taste good.
The wolf is at the door.
His nose draws in my smell.
He tastes the tang of fear,
His appetite I will quell.
The wolf is at the door.
I rise to let him in.
This night will be an atonement,
A night to pay for sins.
The wolf is at the door.
I gather my courage close.
My fingers curl round the icy knob,
I let in the lupine ghost.
The wolf is in the door.
He snarls…I scream.
Thrusting my dagger into his throat,
I snuff out his bloody wet dream.
WKT
Filed under: poetry Tagged: Atonement, Dark poerty, Fear, Ghost, Lupine, Sins, Wet dream, Wolf, Wolf at the door
