The Shadow Poem by Thistle Wargul

Icy blue eyes gleaming in the night,
Watching the struggling lives,
Of so many lost souls
Searching the baron streets in the city.
A flash in the gutter reveals a jet black gun
Covered in scarlet blood,
Splattered in the weakened sun.

Crying from behind a closed door,
And the spectre comes to life.
Its coat made of liquid starlight,
Streaming through the night.
The child with a grey tearstained face
Cowers on the dank green floor.
It’s mother beats it with a stick.

Creeping silent in the darkness,
A ghostly silver wolf.
Seeking all those weakened,
Or diseased, not thinking strait.
Waiting, always watching,
A silver coated shadow.
Bearing those away
That shall not live again.

Brown and unmoving on the bench,
Body consumed by the winter cold.
The tramp gladly follows the wolf
As it disappears into the earth.
And there beneath the bench,
Poking through the harsh winter snow,
A pure white snow dropp covered in dew.

Emerald green buds sprout
From the boughs of the awoken tree.
Leaves covered in veins slowly unfold
As spring caresses with gentle fingers.
A grey furred squirrel lies unmoving,
Its life passed away in the cold,
Not waking to see the new year.

Creeping silent in the darkness,
A ghostly silver wolf.
Seeking all those weakened,
Or diseased, not thinking strait.
Waiting, always watching,
A silver coated shadow.
Bearing those away
That shall not live again.

A silver starlight wolf,
Sitting in the shadows
Icy blue eyes gleaming in the night
Body perfectly shaped,
Limbs in perfect proportion
Perfect for leading
The lost souls out of the maze.

Now if you listen carefully
In the city on Christmas eve,
You’ll hear the faint echoing howl
Mournful with longing
For the warmth of the sun
And you’ll know that it’s watching,
Waiting for your time.