Monster

Standing by the river, this creature so malign,

He stares into the water; his gaze reaps every sign,

With a vilified intent, on those he holds no praise,

His view is skewed and bent, His eyes become so glazed.
                                                 With a darkened soul, so black, so strong,

His willpower hides what is right from wrong,

Hatred fuelled and abhorred by all,

Condemned to life and never to fall.

His vengeance reaps on the poor and weak,

His existence relies on the life he drinks,

For time, he finds, will make no lines,

On his youthful face lie only cries.

Cries of his, in wicked intent,

Cries of theirs lying bruised and bent,

As the blood flows forth in one thick stream,

He relishes the feel of the crimson cream.

As his jaws break skin, his claws tear flesh,

blood down his chin, so thick, so fresh,

Once a shadow of a man who's life did slope,

Now a desolate hole with no abundance of hope.

For in the dark he lays and waits,

His prey comes quick, unaware their fates,

A man, a woman or even a child,

He lost any sympathy when his life was defiled.

So he'll take them now, in his steely embrace,

With a wretched grasp yet an aura of grace,

His last human trait as he bites through the vein,

Then sleep through the day to start over  again.