Below is the poem entitled A Stone in the Cold 4 which was written by poet
Zerbst. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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The thicket moves, my aim must not waver;
with strengthened arms I bend my bow of yew:
My eyes pierce the brush, intent to savor
the sights of a good hunt, an arrow true.
The bracken parts, rattling, empty sighs;
My draw fingers quake from the constant chill.
My quarries' breath floats to the clouded sky,
my own breath muffled as I track my kill.
Overhead, an arrow in deadly arc
speeds toward the bear I'm seeking, still as stone;
A shadow moves, the arrow strikes its mark.
The hand that loosed the shaft was not my own.
I am a man shadowed; death comes knocking:
The hunter hunted; the past comes stalking.