It's bright,
It's dark,
It's warm,
It's cold,
Which is it?
The bright moon of Twilight,
Comes in the midst of dark,
The murky shadows grow long,
They're on the hunt.
Crisp wind,
The crunch of leaves,
The feral growl of a beast,
The soft thuds of running animals.
The ecos of a shrill scream,
The fresh sent of blood,
And the cruel sound of flesh ripped apart.
They howls of wolves.
YOU ARE READING
A Book Of Poems
ŞiirIf you love reading poems, then you'll love the ones I write. So just keep an eye out for my poems plus I'm gonna make a book of my poems, but not all are related.
