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The Hunt (1983)
| Open Poetry #39 |
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The Hunt (1983) |
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XOx Uriah xOX Senior Member
since 2006-02-11
Posts 1403Virginia 
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The fangs of a northwest wind have found my earlobes. Icy windchimes hang from drooping boughs. The calenders declare two weeks 'til first of Winter ; But my toes declare that it is Winter now. Numerous clubs, of which I am not a member... With countless dogs, into the forest pour. Below my hill, the woods seem filled with embers... Glowing coals that pepper the forest floor. Flame-capped nimrods, filled with desperation... For they must fill the gaps upon their trophied walls. I watch awhile, then move, with hesitation ... In fear that I, into their sights may fall. I also face an empty space, in desperation... But, for my kind, the world does not make way. They burn their meat with years of refrigeration. I sneak for home and shall not eat today. They hunt for sport and never aim in hunger. Sandwich wrappers and toilet paper beneath brown leaves. They shoot at shadows. I dare not tarry longer. The cold takes toll and my grumbling stomach grieves. I cannot hunt while they are around... Shooting and excreting the game away. For days, no venison shall be found. And I shall not eat today. |
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| © Copyright 2006 Larry F. Leake - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Seymour Tabin Member Empyrean
since 1999-07-07
Posts 31720Tamarac Fla |
Uriah I understand, I eat because some day I will be eaten. That is the chaos of the world. But don't ask me to explain that. LOL |
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