The Cannibal

In the night the wolves howl in the distance, As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life, Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence Most pure! Have they gone suddenly silent, these yearlings tender lambs, In the stilled quiet amongst the melting snows of winter, The mountain fields run crimson, and an eerie stench oozing Upon the winds of distain! The cannibal lies within the forest of the towered halls, In the giant fortresses of mankind, he does stalk amongst his own brethren, No wolfed bite of treachery could leave such a mark of Terror, as he the beast, whom would feast upon the raw flesh Of his kindred kind! A gentlemen chamleon blending amongst the tailcoats Of learned men, sheathed within the amour of intelligence's, A humanistic wolf moves flawlessly, within the herds of the Meek and mild, to pick his victims of the city flock At his leisure of desires pleasure! Underneath the outstretched wings of the red dragon, The bubbling caldron pot of truest evil, does runneth over, With the gravy’s leavening's of the corruption and violence, Welcoming this creature of the demonic to the dinning Table of the unrighteous and wicked! Black sheep, black sheep, do you have any wool, The whittend lamb does ask, nay but in the woods Therein, lies many go within the wolves din and take What you like at your own risk of course, my innocent Friend, but beneath the blackened skinned wool the Wolf does smile, with a sheepish grinning! In an extravagant restaurant a well-mannered gentlemen, Orders the specialty of the house to go, later he adds He adds his special ingredients, spiced to the taste Buds of the cook himself, it sizzles with an unusual Oromia of well-cooked human flesh, the cannibal Smiles with delight at his culinary masterpiece, As the police knock at his door, with a missing Persons report! In the jail cell of the lost souls, he the cannibal known As Hannibal Lector has no regrets, except say one, The meal he never got to finish! In the night the wolves howl in the distance, As the spring lambs bay, with the first stirrings of life, Close lies the pack of humanity, those for whom hunger for the Fresh taste of the blooding’s first strike, at the throats of innocence Most pure! BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN