How do you like this poem I wrote?

The lycan howls, the lycan howls,

But no one ever listens.

Inside this wound, it is true

that the silver bullet glistens.

For the lycan was just out,

Under a spell, under a spell

The people, they all shout,

(They can't tolerate differance well)

They Cry "Monster, Monster!

He's lurking in our streets!

The wolf-man must be beat!

The scary, horrid beast!"

But the lycan wasn't out to hunt,

he wasn't out to play,

He just wanted to get through tonight

And make it to the next day.

The lycan said ,"Don't be afraid,

I'm a very gentle soul,

Just under a werewolf curse,

I can't help it, you know!"

But the people, they don't listen,

Nor do they really care.

All they noticed were the claws

And the thick layers of hair.

One of the men pulls out his gun,

Angry, Fearful, Sacred,

He was about to Come undone,

For justice wasn't there.

In the moring, the gunman was dead,

With four claw marks in his head,

The werewolf carved something so true:

Hate equals blue