The Inner Beast

The eyes must burn feverish at every window,
That looks up the sky,
Questioning why,
The night haunts the dark recesses,
Of the fearful mind,
Under the pale moon, restiveness grows,
Soon,
The wolves need hide no more,
The beast torn out of the body is,
Newborn,
Flesh hungry,
Just as the moon moves through the silent night,
Watchful,
The beast howls, angry at the moon,
For his curse leaves him thirsty so often,
He knows the spring,
But the reason eludes him,
Why the beast must go hunting at all?
Surely there must be a creamy white throat,
On some window,
Waiting to be feasted upon,
Ah, the same window every night,
Is the moon listening, he howls, he asks...