The Moon Trance

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

This poem was inspired by a Lindsey Stirling song. it is about the bone-chilling transformation of a man cursed with lycanthropy. Please enjoy!

Submitted: December 27, 2017

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Submitted: December 27, 2017



In my garden,

The moon begins to rise.

Grass as carpet,

And trees as my decor.


I wait here,

Silently, fearingly, waiting.

Forgive me, my dear,

For what will soon happen.


My dearest love,

She has never seen me.

My fragile dove,

Would fly away upon the sight.


No one knows,

No human has seen.

Only the crows

Are the witnesses.


On this night,

It will happen again.

My own blight,

Shall take me over.


The full moon;

The key to showing myself.

Power of a monsoon,

And speed of one-thousand horses.


Claws glisten,

Fangs drip with fresh blood.

Bones thicken,

Eyes reflect an amber glow.


A horrid sight, it is,

A monster in the darkness.

My poor little ms,

I protect her from knowing.


If she knew,

She would never forgive me.

Only one view,

And she would leave me.



So here I wait,

With dread and fear on my mind.

To protect my mate,

I keep my horror to myself.



And here it comes,

I feel the burn of transformation.

Speaking in tongues,

I beg myself to stop this shift.


My gums stretch,

My bones grow larger.

The pain forces retch,

But I continue to distort.


Here I stand,

In my garden at night.

In shrouded land,

I am entranced by the moon.


My lust controls me,

I feel its claws pulling at my mind.

Someone, set me free!

It is blood which I desire.


Blood, it is!

I want to feel it on my tongue.

Of hers or of his,

On my fangs, claws, and skin- I want it!


Stop it!

My instinct takes over me.

My sickening wit-

Everything comes crashing down!


I cannot control it!

This pain of want that grows within.

My mind starts to split,

The bloodlust I cannot control!


Creatures of the garden,

Creatures who caused me no harm.

My mind begins to darken,

And the murder may now commence.


I slay a deer,

Rip the wings off of a crow.

I kill a steer,

Then hack the head from a hare.


All these creatures!

They are slain by my clawed hand.

All these creepers,

Not one has a chance.


Any who squirm,

Any who dare try to flee this scene.

Down to the smallest worm,

They all perish because of me.


Their blood,

It decorates the grass carpet.

Caught in the flood,

I continue my crimson feast.


Under the moon,

This horror scene keeps playing.

Hexed by the orb of night;

No common sense, or self-restraint.


As sudden as it comes,

I finally take hold of myself.

My blood numbs,

And the hunger fades away.


My claws sheathe,

My fangs sink into my skull,

I can finally breathe,

And my pelt rots from my skin.


I cannot forget,

What brought me back to light.

She begins to fret,

For my fragile dove has seen me.



Her emerald eyes,

They fill with pure dread.

I try to soothe her cries,

but in the end, she simply ran.


Now there is nothing,

My dearest love has abandoned me.

The silence crushing;

A punishment for my ungodly moon trance.


© Copyright 2018 Raven Akuma. All rights reserved.

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