The Werewoman

There is so much focus on person's appearance that there other face which resides within them is often ignored. The beguiling beauty of many people has caused problems for those that are not wary. It may take them seconds or even years, before they realize the true nature of these beauties. The face within may not be human at all and that is the moment reckoning. This is not to say those that are beautiful are not of good heart but a pretty face does not always equate a pretty heart. Of course I also love werewolves. So what is the poem about then? You decide.

The terrible, incessant wailing of a woman,

reminiscent of a Banshee, the call of the demon. 

Shatters the porcelain glass of silence,

the barriers around this unnatural violence.

It's hastily erected, this perfunctory illusion,

infected, defected, this lady's delusion.

The reflected conflict is now an intrusion,

the mirror deflected, this uneasy conclusion.

Arousal red cheeks, lips of roses,

the long hair of darkness, the warning that closes.

Luscious, delicious, the appealing prey,

every man and animal will want her today.

Unknown reasons, is what makes this lady cry,

small in age but understands- "to die".

Shrouded in mist, her evaporating tears,

the shadows cackle at her increasing fears.

The moon is out, the stars are shining,

in the stillness of this forest, she still is whining.

The hyenas step forward, it is time to eat,

or the wolves will come for this precious meat.

The hyena's bay, the call to the prey,

"I'm going to kill you", is the what the voice would say.

They descend at speed, to where the lady will lie,

the need and the greed allow the hyena's to fly.

Still the lady screams, as the hyena's laugh,

the moon is at full, tis the hyena's gaffe.

The hyena's mocking increases in sound,

the lady can sense that these creatures are around.

The pack comes in, panting for the kill,

now the time has come for the blood to spill.

The pack forms a circle, as the lady stands,

quiet and silent, she is ruler of these lands.

For her face is changing, the fur growing strong,

the hyena's can sense, that all has gone wrong.

Her breasts disappear, her eyes turn yellow,

the beauty of this woman, is no longer so mellow.

Fangs appear, sharp and ready,

on her claws, she appears to be steady.

The moon of her eyes start to wane,

turning the colour of blood that will stain.

The hyena's sprint, as her transformation is near finished,

the predator in the hyena, seemingly diminished.

A howl at the moon, she sets off into the night,

and there she will prowl until the start of light.

She is complete, the transformation is done,

... beautiful women know how to stun.