Crimson Fog (Part 1)
Mist swirls through
my legs as I hunt.
The moon,
little more than half full
casts creature like shadows
through the woods
as if the trees were alive..
That soft scent,
so deep in my nostrils,
I can smell nothing else,
seems to grab my neck
and pull me after it.
The aroma is so thick
I can almost feel it,
and it is digging
into the bestial side
of my brain.
I feel coarse hair pushing
through my skin and
I am wrenched onto hands and knees,
Oh now the sweet pain begins,
hands and fingers shrink
to claws and paws,
then as if my head
was being reshaped
by a blacksmith's hammer,
nose and mouth elongate
into snout,
fangs ripping
through my gums.
The world becomes alive
as my sight changes,
shadows becoming
shimmering gauze,
revealing the true
earth,
the one only the beast
can touch.
In my new form
I easily pick up the trail
and my faithful soul pack
falls in behind me
as I track
her.
I stalk as if I've walked
this path a hundred times
under the leering trees.
Not an animal
(besides us) stirs,
we can feel their quivering
on the wind.
When I spot my quarry
she is in a monnlit glen.
The trees are draped
in mossy vines
like curtains
enclosing it from
the rest of the world.
A black glass like pond
is off to the right
enshrouded by a cliff
shaped like an outstretched
clawed hand,
from which
between two fingers
a slender water fall
drops into the backside
of the pond.
........And puff it's gone,
I taste rot oozing
off my teeth,
that's what you get
for leaping before you look.
Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008
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