This is yet another case of “I swear this is not what it looks like”. It’s a really cheerful piece if you look at it from a very specific angle. I swear.
The beast snarls low with fangs laid bare
Seeping through the morning sun,
For battles past do not compare
To the war that has begun.
Claws as sharp as voices livid
Grasp with insatiable hunger,
For easy game and prey insipid
Have turned the hunted to the hunter.
The beast does leap from shadowed groves
And maddened, grovels back again,
Howling from the farthest coves
Howls that thunder and remain.
It writhes at the blinding might
Of searing stars and sunlit summer –
A twisted dance, a cruel sight –
Consuming evil quenches anger.
Eyes as deep as woodland dales
Delve through shrouded dreams uncharted,
Their warmth of heart and spirit frail
Have turned the hunter… to the hunted.