The Creature in the Shadows

In the dead of night, when all is still,

And the moon is but a sliver, small and chill,

There's a sense of something lurking,

Something dark and twisted, cold and smirking.

It creeps along the shadows deep,

A thing of darkness that never sleeps,

Its eyes like coals that gleam and stare,

Its breath a whisper in the air.

The wind begins to howl and moan,

As the creature comes to claim its own,

Its claws like razors, sharp and cruel,

Its hunger fierce, its thirst for blood unquenched, unruled.

It moves with grace and deadly speed,

A thing of nightmares, born of greed,

Its victims tremble and try to flee,

But the creature's grasp is strong, they cannot break free.

And so it hunts and preys at will,

A creature born of purest ill,

And those who dare to cross its path,

Will feel its wrath, its cold and deadly wrath.