there, in the limelight, I stood,
struggling to carve myself into shadow.
He loomed over me, watching, waiting—
a hyena cloaked in the skin of a wolf.
I can still hear it—the cackle of power,
His laugh as sharp as lightning,
a menacing rasp that fractures the air.
fangs glisten, bloodied, under the searing lights,
eyes like a hollow moon—cold, empty, unfeeling.
hot breath ghosts my neck.
a jagged smile hovers, patiently waiting
for the snap of bone beneath His teeth.
does He know His own nature?
our bodies shift, backs pressed
against the crushing weight of the world that surrounds us.
by the noise of the restless pack encircling us, or fear?
a howl splits the darkness—
a jagged, sneering cry that scratches at the night.
as the flashing lights burn brighter, His eyes darken,
deepening to shadow. claws—sharp and cruel—
pierce my skin, step by step, relentless.
my hackles flatten, teeth grinding shut, tail forced down.
my body betrays me, yet I cannot yield.
I am the strong wolf. I must stand tall.
His sneer, as violent as torrential rain, floods me,
and I face the crackling lightning,
feeling every shock burn through my bones.
I am not sure if I am howling or screaming
as I stare to the sky, heavy with storms.
then, from the depths of the dark, another voice rises,
strong, clear. soft yellow eyes, bright like the sun,
burn through the blackened sky.
my voice shakes, falters—but more join in,
a chorus of wolves rising,
and in that moment, I remember.
the hyena, disguised in power, is gone.
did He flee, or has He lost Himself in His own cruelty?
scarred tongues lick at my wounds,
and my legs tremble, reliving the sharp bite
of razor teeth I convinced myself were only nightmares.
my battered body lowers to the earth,
cocooned by the warmth of my pack,
surrounded by the pulse of solidarity.
I hadn’t realized how cold I was
until I was wrapped in the heat of belonging.
but even in the comfort of the pack, a question lingers—
did He choose to become hyena, or was it forced upon Him,
forged from generations of violence,
am I not also shaped by a fractured history of struggle,
a wolf only because I’ve learned to survive the darkness?
air thick with the scent of rain,
and the wolves around me breathe in steady rhythm,
reminding me that I am not alone.
in this pack, I am more than my wounds.
the lightning surging in my bones cannot
electrocute me any longer. instead,
it becomes a source of power.
I am not just the wolf who stands,
I will raise my head, and
the light will find me whole.
