Here's a work in progress. It hasn't got a title yet.
I tried ignoring them, the moonlit calls
The clawing, howling pack outside the gates,
Who laugh at silver bullets and at walls
And, waiting, set up camp, like restless fates.
They’re nowhere near, and yet I feel them breathe.
If I dared move, would they pick up my scent?
They’re pretty unimpressed by my bared teeth
And merely sneer at letters of intent.
There’s nothing else to do but to surrender
And wait for claws and teeth to tear my flesh
And feel the deathly wave of painful splendour
Like some rabbit caught in a barbed wire mesh.
There could be worse ways, I guess, to be ruined,
Than with the feel of soft wolf fur against my wound.