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We're Wolves
© by Christine Fischer

nights are forsaken, taste of bittersweet blood
replacing the memories of soft and warm touch.
his sanity torn, he accuses the moon,
voice hoarse, no relief from the pale feral bloom.

yet the direful sound casts a spell on a maid
tied to a pole at the cursed wood´s range.
another sunrise she will nevermore see,
awarded as the singer´s sacrificial fee.

he exits the forest, is struck by her eyes,
her gaze halts his steps and his furious mind.
another moon pulling, a different old tide,
rising a name, doomed forever to hide.

souls long ago lost dare a trembling embrace
kisses remembered, faces tenderly traced.
it is all right, fate won´t have to reverse,
in tales you can trail them on iron red earth.

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