Unloved Beast

There is a monster in this world some have even seen
with fangs sharp as the butcher's blade and eyes ever keen.
He blends with pure darkness and serves the reining moon.
He fears not the winter's cold nor the dreaded monsoon.
Taking quiet, agile steps he wanders across the world
watching, waiting, hidden in the underbrush curled.
As the moment comes when the traveling wind calls,
he rises to his destiny crested upon stone walls.
Frightening is his growl followed by the thunderous sound
of his voice booming from his throat to the shuddering ground.
His skin as chilled as ice is rough-scaled to any touch;
all these he knows as he takes advantage of such.
Born alone, live alone, die alone claims himself his master
as he canters like no known creature: incredibly faster
through valleys, through fields, above mountains and to seas
coming and going as his raging heart does please.
His unsettled mind sets his temper in a fire ablaze,
his soul aching from the tranquility that forever betrays,
and so grow his claws with the desire to tear
anything that dares stand in view of his menacing glare.
When curiosity does peak he wanders to our homes
staring through each glass window as his mouth foams.
At the site of his luminous glance screams echo in flight,
all courage lost in fear of this beast's awesome might,
but I linger behind watching him with uncertainty
while he draws near wondering why I don't flee.
Unlike the rest, I see through his menacing disguise
aware of the sorrow, the pain that burns through his eyes.
I reach out my hand to touch his face's crudeness,
but he backs into shadow in shame I find his weakness,
and I pause in realization of what this monster is afraid of,
not blood, not death, but a stroke of love.