Dream’s are worth it, right?

A beast stands tall ’neath crimson sky,

Its voice a song, a shattered cry.

The sun sinks low, the air burns red,

Yet something stirs, a hunger fed.

Teeth gleam sharp, a jaw agape,

Catching whispers, chasing fate.

The sky, a sea of molten fire,

Calls the beast to something higher.

Does it howl for what is lost?

For fleeting time, for love, for cost?

Or does it yearn for things unseen,

A dream beyond the in-between?

The night will come, the stars will fade,

Yet still it stands, unbound, unmade.

A silhouette ’gainst dying light,

Forever reaching—never flight.

A tethered ghost against the sky,

A severed fate left asking why.

The sun glares red, a watchful eye,

While silent winds let echoes die.

Teeth bared wide in frozen snarl,

A beast undone, a fate so cruel.

Yet chains still stretch, still bind, still pull,

As if the body lingers whole.

Does it dream, this fractured thing?

Does it howl, or does it sing?

Or does it wait, adrift, alone,

A head that’s lost—but not yet gone?

The ropes grow slack, the night draws near,

The sun bleeds low, the air is clear.

Yet even severed, even still,

The hound remains—it always will.