Hunted Game
By Tramp Poet
Hunted Game Eerie howling of bitter wind matches, complements the wolves moonlight shadows on fresh falling snow. Wind biting, attacks exposed flesh breath sharp, forms from frozen vapor end is near the Hunted feels, knows. Momentary safety under sharp rock ledge pressing back desperate; rock impresses, molds white hot fear, ragged breath, icy prison. Thoughts of darting, fleeing for dear life fought down as consequences thought sheer, precious survival forcing quiet decision. The “Game” shivers in partial, tenuous shelter as Hunter’s steps disturb momentary still voice softly, lovingly calls; coaxing by name. Shivers not all borne of ugly weather wrack; gasp as shelf behind bites anew wild semi-solutions flood, energize the Game. Solutions??? None, it seems that lead to life an ending??? the Hunted imagines frozen death hope??? wolves serenade with bitter, bitter wind. Shadows scuttle ‘cross blue-white meadow below terror, resolve, indecision...again and again Game hunted by Hunter...once called friend. Tramp Poet 10/01 Written October 20th, 2001 © on Oct 20 2001 12:35 PM PST 10 • 0
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"Hunted Game..."