Posted in Fiction & Poetry



I knew you before you turned

Before you were bitten

Before your stars changed

Before fate played

Cruel fate

Depends on your view

I see it before me now

You must go a new way

With your going comes the past

No sense on that to dwell


Will you control the waning moon?

And the transformation it brings

Will you pass me by?

Or recognize

In the form you take

I don’t fear

You’re still beautiful to see

I want you near

Your guttural howl I can hear

Curl up

Lay your head

By a warm hearth

Make your bed






Your prompt this week is:


…with your going comes the past…