The Hour of the Wolf

[LorettaYoung]

The Hour of the Wolf (edit 7)

Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress:
within the wolf, his fear and stress,
the constant presence always there,
despair dressed in a suit of hair.

The hour of the wolf is near;
no place to run or hide from here.
His heart beats at a pounding pace,
his head begins to spin and race.
He's tortured by the tearing claws
and gripped by unrelenting jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
and fuel the fires of his fears.

The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks approaching dawn.
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes within
to shine upon
the shattered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.

The hour of the wolf:
the depth and living hell
of our despair

g.e.Kaye, final edit 4/2/15


The Hour of the Wolf (edit 6)

Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross:
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
the wolf, his piercing tearing claws
and unrelenting gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fire of his fears;
the wolf's destruction of his will.

The hour of the wolf is when it kills.

The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes within
to shine upon
the shattered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.

The hour of the wolf:
the depth and living hell
of our despair.


The Hour of the Wolf (edit 5)

Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cro
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of duress;
within the wolf, his fear and stress.
There is no exit from himself
no place to run.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the constant presence always there;
with tearing claws and gripping jaws.
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fires of his fears;
the wolf's descent upon his will

This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.

The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn;
unknowing of the violent storm.
A ray of light intrudes within
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.

The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell
and our despair.



The Hour of the Wolf (edit 4)

Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a supernatural wolf rules there.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
(the wolf who crouches in his lair),
has tearing claws and gripping jaws;
He cannot hide, there is no exit
from, his self, no place to run.
Surreal voices pierce his ears,
and fuel the fires of his fears.
He throws his hands up to the air
rips his clothes and flings a chair.
His stomach grips and roars,
he vomits on the wall and floors.
His heartbeat is a pounding pace,
His head begins to spin and race,
to tormenting memories and faces,
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.
The man has no control or will
This hour of the wolf is meant to kill.

The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes
to shine upon;
a battered shell of man, open eyed,
sprawled in disarray across a chair.

The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell,
and our despair.




The Hour of the Wolf (edit 3)

Fog engulfs a lonely shack.
Inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing at a cold steel cross;
repenting, for a kingdom lost.
He brings his baggage of despair;
a wolf with supernatural flair.
He's torn by the tearing claws
tormented by the gripping jaws.


     

Surreal voices pierce his ears
that fuel the fires of his fears.

His heartbeat is a frantic pace.
His head begins to spin and race,
to memories and faces;
as he paces and paces,
on the shadows of
the vomit stained floor.

The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
A ray of light intrudes,
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth of living hell
and our despair.





The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)

Fog engulfs a lonely shack,
within, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of duress,
the wolf within; his fear and stress,
the constant presence always there;
dressed to kill in a suit of hair.

The hour of the wolf is near
no place to run or hide from here
his heart beats at a pounding pace.
his head begins to spin and race
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
Surreal voices fill his ears
fueling the fires of his fears;
the wolf's destruction of his will:
The hour of the wolf is
is meant to kill.

The clock on the wall, it
tick
tick
ticks approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes within
to shine upon,
a shattered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.

The hour of the wolf:
the depth of living hell
and our despair.


The Hour of the Wolf (edit 1)

Dense fog,
engulfs the lonely shack.
A man in black repents his loss
sobbing at a cold steel cross.
The suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
now free to fill the musty air.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and walls.
His head spins and races,
to memories and faces,
as he paces
and paces,
among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.
He suffers from the tearing claws,
the clenching unrelenting jaws
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places;
to occupy once clean spaces
now sucks his living breath,
the life of him, his will:
This hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.

The clock on the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
END?( I have been encouraged to end on the repetitive theme, therefore setting the last scene?)
Unknowing of the violent storm,
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.


The Hour of the Wolf (original version)

Deadly quiet
at the lonesome shack.
The darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things;
no rest for him,
even in,
this quiet lonely place.
There is no exit from
no place to run,
despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf crouches in his lair,
razor sharp, his tearing claws
and dripping clenching
unrelenting jaws,
the wolf it needs no human flair
the tear the suitcase of despair
let free engulfs the musty air
lSurreal voices pierce his ears,
to fuel the fires of his fears,
his stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding on the floor and wall;
his head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces,
as he paces,
and paces,
among the shadows
on the blood red vomit stained floor
the hour of the wolf has come
again to him,
who in such lonely places
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws
the biting faces,
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces,
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:
this hour of the wolf is meant to kill,
the clock up on the wall, it
ticks,
ticks,
ticks
approaching dawn
unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf,
the depth and living hell
of our despair.

[rowens]

This deserves to be taken seriously more than the poem that was moved earlier. Though if you went through it and made changes on your own it would be better suited for well-deserved critique.

Deadly quiet,
at the lonesome shack;
the darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
No rest for him, even in
this quiet lonely place;
there is no exit from,
no place to run.


There's no problem with "Deadly quiet" or "lonesome shack" or "the darkest hours", but the other words in those lines, and the punctuation, are examples of what's wrecking the poem. The "at the" and the "from which": your wording is drowning those already difficult to sound strong phrases that I think are important.

". . . the darkest hours . . . there's no way back": that is strong, the idea is strong, but the wording makes it sound weak. ". . . the suitcase . . . despairing things": the same strength and the same problem.

I could go ahead and go through the rest of the poem here. And I might in a little while. Or maybe you could switch this one with the one in the Serious section, or have them both there.

[rowens]

the wolf it crouches in his lair.
With razor sharp, his tearing claws,
and dripping, unrelenting jaws.
The wolf it needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
and clouds of screaming woes
let free, disburse to fill the musty air.

I like "musty air" in this poem. But all the lines above feel unnecessary and sloppily placed together.



his stomach bleeds acidic waste
erupting forth on floor and walls.
His head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces;
as he paces,
and paces, among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.

Though, with a little work, you'll have something with these lines.

[rowens]

The hour of the wolf has come,

Many of the simple lines like this are working.


again to him,
who in such lonely places,
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws,

This comes close. I'm not sure about it yet.

the biting faces
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,

This is another simple thing that works, and that I like.


to occupy once clean spaces:
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will
this hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.


Throughout the poem I come across these seemingly simple phrases that I like and that will work in this poem.
If only you could better express the rest of it.

[billy]

for me the poem feels too wordy. it's hard to explain without re writing the poem which is something i'm not keen on doing.

Deadly quiet,
at the lonesome shack;
the darkest hours from which
there's no way back.

deathly dark buries the vacant shack

can you say the same thing in one or two lines? the last two lines say almost nothing of relevance. the first line is a given as it's a lonesome shack,
the three main things you have here are dark and quiet and shack.
i'm not sure deadly is a good word choice unless the quiet kills people. a suggestion is deathly quiet which means something to do with death. it could also be deathly dark, which removes the redundant quiet and the need for the third line. when i think of lonesome, i think of cowboy, a suggestions are; desolate, deserted, abandoned, or vacant..there are lots of other words can do a better job than lonesome.

you can break down most of the poem in order to bring it closer together.

this quiet lonely place;
there is no exit from,

we know it quite, it's already been said, we also no it's lonely
the 2nd line is very wordy.

a place you don't leave

look out for cliches, deep in the woods is common hrase when used in such poetry.

also watch for forced meter,

the wolf it crouches in his lair.

it is the forced part of the meter
it's can be okay to write;

the wolf crouches in his lair.
specially if you're not sticking to a rigid meter.
there is some other points but i've already given a lot of food for thought so i'll wait to see if there's an edit
thanks for the read.

The Hour of the Wolf

Deadly quiet,
at the lonesome shack;
the darkest hours from which
there's no way back.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
No rest for him, even in
this quiet lonely place;
there is no exit from,
no place to run.

Despair dressed in a suit of hair,
the wolf it crouches in his lair.
With razor sharp, his tearing claws,
and dripping, unrelenting jaws.
The wolf it needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
and clouds of screaming woes
let free, disburse to fill the musty air.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
to fuel the fires of his fears;
his stomach bleeds acidic waste
erupting forth on floor and walls.
His head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces;
as he paces,
and paces, among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.

The hour of the wolf has come,
again to him,
who in such lonely places,
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws,
the biting faces
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,
to occupy once clean spaces:
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will
this hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.

The tired clock upon the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.

[Todd]

Hi Loretta, I like where you're going with this. Here are some comments for you.

The Hour of the Wolf

Deadly quiet,--Not a strong opening line. Might be better with line two maybe, "in the lonesome shack
at the lonesome shack;
the darkest hours from which--Not fond of this line since the title already brings me here. So hours is a cut for me. Darkest can be shown in the imagery better
there's no way back.--I think you could also cut this, though I'm a minimalist so if this is more than you want disregard.
Deep in the woods
the suitcase he brings,--I like the introduction of the suitcase
full only with despairing things.--It could just be me but I might want "with only" Nice idea this
No rest for him, even in--too close to "no rest for the wicked"
this quiet lonely place;--shack already does lonely this is unnecessary.
there is no exit from,
no place to run.

The suitcase is an interesting idea. The rest should just set mood quickly. There's a lot in the beginning that feels unnecessary to me

Despair dressed in a suit of hair,--Like this. It also makes me think of self-flagellating monks punishing themselves for sin.
the wolf it crouches in his lair.--Not sure you need this line
With razor sharp, his tearing claws,
and dripping, unrelenting jaws.--like this. It feels like a grimms fairy tale
The wolf it needs no human flair
to tear the suitcase of despair,
and clouds of screaming woes--Like something a little stronger than this. I can accept the suitcase but I'd like more specificity than clouds of screaming woes
let free, disburse to fill the musty air.
Surreal voices pierce his ears
to fuel the fires of his fears;
his stomach bleeds acidic waste
erupting forth on floor and walls.--This break in rhyme was jarring
His head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces;
as he paces,
and paces, among the shadows--the repetition of paces is nice. It does what the word suggests
of the blood red vomit stained floor.

The hour of the wolf has come,
again to him,
who in such lonely places,
cannot win, nor
erase the wicked claws,
the biting faces
of the wolf who crouches
in uninvited places,--so far I'm not liking this strophe. This line however is something new and a nice bit of content
to occupy once clean spaces:
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will
this hour of the wolf
is meant to kill.--this two lines are also good

The tired clock upon the wall, it
ticks
ticks
ticks--like the earlier paces this is a nice touch
approaching dawn.--I'd consider ending the poem here
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair.
The hour of the wolf;
the depth and living hell,
and our despair.

I know that was a lot. I do like the poem. It just feels like less would be more here.

Hope some of that helps.

Best,

Todd

[billy]

hi lorretta, i try not to see any poem as sloppy. i try and see it as does it work or doesn't it work for me. the 2nd verse had the same problems as the rest of the poem for me. a few ideas on the start of the 2nd.

Despair dressed in a suit of hair, while it has good sounds it feels too literal and in turn makes the lair on the next line feel forced. the good part about this line is that we can look at the wolf as something other than canis lupus. i now see as more the proverbial wolf at the door (something problematic)
the wolf it crouches in his lair. here's a major problem...the [it] and as i said [lair] feels forced
With razor sharp, his tearing claws, here [with] screws the line up, remove [with] and the line works a lot better. as does the next
and dripping, unrelenting jaws.
The wolf it needs no human flair and here's the [it] again, that it's said so often makes it stand out all the more. as a refrain [the wolf] works [the wolf it] does not.

i get a feeling that you have a need to make it rhyme, doing so might be where the problem is. try and write it without rhyme to start with, or just use an odd rhyme if it jumps out at you. once the poem's laid down then start to add rhyme and alter words (if that's what you want. at present it feels like the rhyme is dictating everything instead of being the culmination of each line. again this is only my opinion and you should have a good think about it and not just accept what i say. what do others say, now i've said that, how do you see the rhymes? make each word you write count. if it doesn't, remove it
hope i helped

Thank you Billy, for reading and your time commenting. Before your post I was slowly trying to edit; in my answered post to Rowens. I will look carefully and closely and do an edit after; do you agree that the first part of the 2nd stanza is sloppy? Thanks, Loretta

---

Pitch black his lonesome shack
deep in the woods, and no way back
no rest for him, no exit from
the bags he brings, full
only with despairing things
The wolf it crouches in his lair
despair dressed in a suit of hair
his razor sharp tearing claws
and dripping unrelenting jaws
the wolf it needs no human flair
to ear the suitcase of despair

---

Pitch black his lonesome shack
deep in the woods, and no way back
no rest for him, no exit from
the bags he brings, full
only with despairing things
The wolf it crouches in his lair
despair dressed in a suit of hair
his razor sharp tearing claws
and dripping unrelenting jaws
the wolf it needs no human flair
to ear the suitcase of despair

[nb]

Hi Loretta!

Hmm...

There's a scene in the (very good, sez me) 1992 American film "A River Runs Through It" in which Tom Skerritt (playing a Great Depression-era minister in Montana, who is homeschooling his sons) has one of his boys write an essay. He marks it, then hands it back to him & says, "Half as long." I'll echo billy's comment that your poem seems too wordy. You've got some great images & your theme, a man turning into a beast and being compelled to act beastly, and being aware of the whole process even as he is unable (and perhaps, delicious secret of delicious secrets, unwilling; i.e. he likes it) to stop it, is certainly a fascinating one, but I think The Hour of the Wolf, like a rose bush, needs a little pruning to make it healthier & more impressive.

nb

[rowens]

I liked the shape of the original poem. It might not be very important, I'm just saying how I felt about it. The first three lines now lose that shape, though the rest of the poem retains it.

I like what you're trying to do with this. I like the hour of the wolf, which I personally call the Wolfing Hour, the last hour of darkness before the sun begins to rise. And I hope you'll be able to get the poem across with your words, while I have so many ideas about what I would like to do.

The new version still has many of the lines that just lie flat. Lines that aren't really saying anything that anyone couldn't assume for themselves. And lines like:

again to him, who cannot win
nor, evade the wicked claws


He can't win. That could work, it could even stand out. He just can't win. But at the same time other lines like:

Then clouds of screaming woes
let free, disburse to fill the musty air

shine badly on the lesser lines. It feels like you got carried away and lost balance. There's less of that in the new version; but the poem still feels sketchy to me. I mean certain things could feel a little less generic. I do like the simplistic, fairy tale like phrases you have in places throughout the poem. As a whole, though, it just doesn't seem there yet.

[LorettaYoung]

Thank you Rowens: I liked the shape of the original poem also, some things are better, but it seems to lie flat. Loretta

---

Rowens: if you read the original poem out loud it's more like a story; the extra words, can be cut, but, it has to move along and not get stuck. Loretta

---

Rowen: I edited Edit l again. Despair; a fascinating subject, Ingmar Bergman did a film called the hour of the wolf in the 60's; it has never left my mind. The thing is, talk about being wordy; how few words can you show the experience of despair in? Loretta

[rowens]

Dark and quiet
at the lonesome shack,
far from home,
alone, and no way back;
the suitcase he brings,
full only with despairing things.
No rest for him,
there is no exit from,
himself, no place to run

You're packing on these things that detract from the tone of the poem.

far from home

alone

no way back

no place to run

These are important details. But as you have them here, they feel like a list. If you could say those same things in more novel ways. If you could imaginatively condense these meanings. You're simply listing literal expressions that pretty much mean the same thing, but you could try to nuance those meanings.




The hour of the wolf
has come again to him,
who cannot win;
deflect the wicked claws,
the biting faces
of the wolf who crouches,
in uninvited places
to occupy once clean spaces

[rowens]

That's one direction to go, the changes you've made. You should take your time with it, give it awhile, see what you can do. I smoothed out the second stanza in my mind so I know it can be done with only minor changes.

What said "member"?

[rowens]

You could keep the other drafts of the poem, if you still have them. The original poem was still the best model despite the problematic lines. Sometimes you were changing the poem in the original post as I was reading and responding to it, and sometimes you have new versions that nobody sees because you haven't announced with a new post. Not that that matters all that much; it's your poem and you can change it anyway you want.

[LorettaYoung]

That's one direction to go, the changes you've made. You should take your time with it, give it awhile, see what you can do. I smoothed out the second stanza in my mind so I know it can be done with only minor changes.

What said "member"?

---

Hi Rowens: it says member right now on your suggestions. That easy for an expert to say; one direction meaning think of other directions. It say "member" right above, Thanks, more direction, right on it! Do you think I made most of the changes requested? Thanks, Loretta

[rowens]

My suggestions don't matter very much. I just thought you could take your time with it, even if it's burning to come out, and get to the heart of the poem, whatever that means. All I know is that a few of the lines and the shape of the poem create a tone and an atmosphere for me.


You're telling the story best here:

his stomach bleeds acidic waste
erupting forth on floor and walls.
His head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces;
as he paces,
and paces, among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.


You're forceful there, tearing through the story.


But with:

at this last stop,
he just can't win

and other lines like that, it feels like you're backtracking or running in place.

[LorettaYoung]

My suggestions don't matter very much. I just thought you could take your time with it, even if it's burning to come out, and get to the heart of the poem, whatever that means. All I know is that a few of the lines and the shape of the poem create a tone and an atmosphere for me.


You're telling the story best here:

his stomach bleeds acidic waste
erupting forth on floor and walls.
His head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces;
as he paces,
and paces, among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.


You're forceful there, tearing through the story.


But with:

at this last stop,
he just can't win

and other lines like that, it feels like you're backtracking or running in place.

---

Rowens: your suggestions have been very helpful; I agree with all the critiques; but still, like the original best; but can't see how to fix it conforming to the criticisms. I am editing over and over on Edit l looking for direction. Thanks really rowens, Loretta

---

My suggestions don't matter very much. I just thought you could take your time with it, even if it's burning to come out, and get to the heart of the poem, whatever that means. All I know is that a few of the lines and the shape of the poem create a tone and an atmosphere for me.


You're telling the story best here:

his stomach bleeds acidic waste
erupting forth on floor and walls.
His head begins to spin and race,
to dreaded memories and faces;
as he paces,
and paces, among the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.


You're forceful there, tearing through the story.


But with:

at this last stop,
he just can't win

and other lines like that, it feels like you're backtracking or running in place.

---

Rowens: your suggestions have been very helpful; I agree with all the critiques; but still, like the original best; but can't see how to fix it conforming to the criticisms. I am editing over and over on Edit l looking for direction. Thanks really rowens, Loretta

---

Hi, hope I'm not a pain; I was realizing that those similar words, "alone, no where to go", etc. was an attempt to give the poor guy some definition. We could just say "At the end of his rope", but what does that give; why is the guy at the mercy of the wolf; I have to give some feeling for his reasons for desperation, I think, that's the poor attempts of he's lonely, has no where to go, etc, however could be said in a better way i presume? Thanks, Loretta

[LorettaYoung]

Rowens: I have finally a 2nd edit; with all your help, and the suggestions of Todd and Billy, and nb, I think the poem is better; although not perfect, your help has been integral in rethinking and learning. Thanks all, Loretta

[rowens]

It might not be perfect, but you've paced the story a lot better. I'll read it again.

[Todd]

Hi Loretta, a few comments on your new edit.

The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)

Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair
dressed to kill in a suit of hair. --dressed to kill is cliche though you do come close to redeeming it for me through the irony
This wolf has supernatural flair
to tear the baggage of despair
now free embrace with musty air.

The man begins to pace,
and pace,
his heartbeat is a record race.
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and walls--walls isn't really a rhyme. Wall would sound better here
his head spins and races
to dreaded memories,--I'd be tempted to cut dreaded as its too telling and simple pull up "and faces" to the end of this line
and faces, as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the blood red vomit stained floor.--I'd maybe cut stained. You have a lot of modifiers here.

He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits
a fearful weeping place,--this feels like it needs to lead of with "in"
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:--This is where you could play with the sucks in the last line a bit more something like "the marrow of his will" perhaps
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.

The clock hung on the wall, it--hung seems unnecessary
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.

The edit is an improvement. I hope the comments help some.

Best,

Todd

[LorettaYoung]

Hi Loretta, a few comments on your new edit.

The Hour of the Wolf (edit 2)

Fog engulfs the lonely shack,
inside, a trembling man in black
kneels sobbing, at a cold steel cross
repenting, of a Kingdom lost.
He's brought his baggage of despair
dressed to kill in a suit of hair. --dressed to kill is cliche though you do come close to redeeming it for me through the irony
This wolf has supernatural flair
to tear the baggage of despair
now free embrace with musty air.

His heart beats at a record pace
His stomach bleeds acidic gall
exploding onto floor and wall--walls isn't really a rhyme. Wall would sound better here
his head spins and races
to memories and faces,--I'd be tempted to cut dreaded as its too telling and simple pull up "and faces" to the end as he paces
and paces
on the shadows
of the vomit stained floor.[b]--I'd maybe cut stained. You have a lot of modifiers here.

He suffers from the tearing claws
the pain of unrelenting jaws,
of the wolf who awaits
in the fearful weeping place,--this feels like it needs to lead of with "in"
now sucks his living breath
the life of him, his will:--This is where you could play with the sucks in the last line a bit more something like "the marrow of his will" perhaps
The hour of the wolf,
is meant to kill.

The clock on the wall, it--hung seems unnecessary
ticks,
ticks
ticks
approaching dawn.
Unknowing of the violent storm
a ray of light intrudes
to shine upon,
a battered shell of man
sprawled across a chair:
The hour of the wolf
the depth of living hell
and our despair.

The edit is an improvement. I hope the comments help some.

Best,

Todd

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Hi Todd: thanks for your coments; the irony would be a natural extent of my bit of humor. I agree with all the other changes, how about last line S2 "on the vomit stained floor"; I agree with a change, ie, marrow, but not sure how, as I like the sound of the breaks there. Back to the thinking board. Thanks again. Loretta