J.S.Worth

Curse of the Wendigo

It has been said in darkest times,
when morals matter least.
That some resort to sell their soul,
partaking in a feast.

Such desperate acts aren’t understood,
by those who can atone.
I pray you never have to choose,
to eat one of your own.

A man may bite into the flesh
of brother in his thirst.
And when the blood drips from his lips,
that moment he is cursed.

Transformed into a ghastly thing,
deformed in every way.
A twisted creature of the wilds,
such is the price to pay.

Violent and insatiable,
it feeds because it must.
It roams forsaken feral lands,
indulging in its lust.

A hunger that cannot be tamed,
it ever strikes again.
Ravenously hunting for,
the beating hearts of men.

And when at last its had its fill,
and bones are stripped till bare.
The beast must wait a hundred years,
asleep within its lair.

A story rarely told at night,
but better that you know.
In case you’re ever hunted by,
the demon Wendigo.

J.S.Worth

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