The Howling

Out behind the woodshed, led a path that disappears

Tangled up in vines and webs of trees

Standing in the stillness, under the moon, a mist appeared

Whispers say my name, upon the breeze

Pushing through the brush, like the fear I feel inside

Darkness ensues with fingers, made of air

Encasing every inch, leaving me numb, nowhere to hide

Standing confined, alone, in magic square

A stream of vapor, filled my lungs

My skin began to crawl

Eyes rolled back, choking on my tongue

As my hands turned into claws

The moon begs me sing a song

my head, compelled, upturns and cries

Howling till the pack, begins to sing along

Campfires under blood moons, amplified

So, late nights by the fire

Keep your stories to yourself

Wearing the appropriate attire

To keep from becoming something else

Listen as the wind blows

When the moon is on the rise

There are secrets only the night knows

And the shadows fill the skies