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Image for the poem The Hunt

The Hunt

I the doe,
quivering in the woods,
frozen in fear.
You the wolf,
fur bristling,
eyes holding me in thrall,
nose scenting the air,
taking in the decedent aroma of my terror.
Predator Supreme.
You take a step toward me,
 not to finish me,
but to set my pulse racing,
hoping that I may choose to dare escape.
The kill never
satisfies
without the hunt.
Your eyes glitter in the dark and
the rigid lines of your stance,
muscles bunched,
betray your true intentions.
I refuse to play this game by the rules...
If I am to be destroyed,
eviscerated,
ripped to bloody shreds,
then it will be on my terms.
Never yours.
So,
I face my fate defiantly,
knowing
that the killing blow WILL come.
Stay or run
you will possess my heart.
Either way I'm yours.
My choice then?
Do I sacrifice merely my body
or surrender you my soul?
I will not run!
So come wolf.
Come!
Come and taste my flesh.
For I offer of myself freely,
and gladly sacrifice to you
my pride.
GypsySoul86
Written by GypsySoul86
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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