On a cold starry night, I find myself alone,  Away from every other sight,  In a jungle very much unknown.  On a cold scary night,  I am a wolf on this plight,  A fantasy, where I am not the prey,  But the protagonist of my own tale.  On a cold perilous night,  The squealing sounds,  The beating pounds,  The hooting taunts,  And a shed of light,  I can see but naught.  On a cold ridiculous night,  Having had a nice juicy bite,  A carnivores rite,  And not expecting a late fight,  I was about to return to the pack,  When a cackle of hyenas came about,  Attempting to sway me into a rack.  My stern figure sowing seeds of doubt.  But, on a cold miserable night,  When numbers would match my might,  And someone would foil the scripts,  I found myself fleeing with my bowels ripped.  Such is life, that in my own fantasy,  I, a angry bad wolf revelling in ecstasy,  Would not find my way to my pack alive,  Even in the world I thrive.  On a cold excruciating night,  I groan in pains with fright,  As my limbs are torn from me.  Earlier, I had been on a killing spree,  A game of 'I chase, you flee'  So on this night,  I found myself alone,  And without help,  A saddening recurrence,  Not a single soul to alter my fate,  It only made sense that I die alone.