Creature of the night
 
 As the sun goes down he begins his churning,
 For he has slept to avoid his deadly burning.
 When brought from sleep, it is from great hunger,
 As nothing else would disturb his dark, dark slumber.
 
 He ventures out among the people,
 Among the strong, and among the feeble.
 He walks, and talks while seen as average,
 With strength so larg, it could induce great damage.
 
 He was created by another that was very old,
 For he saw the boy as very strong and bold.
 Made by means of almost dying,
 While so dazed he felt as if he was flying. 

 He still loves those he once cared about,
 Sending them money and great gifts of account.
 Many of his questions now went unanswered,
 As his creator had went into the fire and expired.
 
 He does not know if there is a god or devil,
 And if there is he knows to not which level.
 He cannot perish but for two ways,
 They are fire, and the light of day.
 
 He heals fast from any type of wound,
 But if unable to return by day he is doomed.
 He hungers not for food or drink,
 But something else that is very unique.
 
 He can read the thoughts of very many,
 The thoughts of love, hate and the ungodly.
 He can move faster than even the fastest lion,
 Sometimes it appears that he may even be flying. 

 He can be so quite without a sound.
 While even in silence he cannot be found.
 His vision and hearing are enhanced a million,
 He can find a rose in a sea of vermilion.
 
 He can jump five stories at a time,
 While landing back down softly on a dime.
 His voice can burst a person's eardrums,
 Even if he is just trying to quietly hum.

 He does not choose to attack the weakest,
 But feeds from the cruel and the bleakest.
 He feels great love while he's drinking,
 Taking their life slowly as their hearts are beating.
 When the life is taken his skin gets color,
 Which was once white from great hunger.

 He is a creature of the night, immortal and strong.

 The sun is coming, he must now get home.


 Thomas Wooden