End

Hush, be still my quarry. The hounds bleachedly Beckon to the hunters as twilight comes upon us. Now the loins ache as astride the equine we retire. Legs quiver with overworked exhaustion, continued Use making the body shudder in tyrannical upheaval. Tremulous hands as sunlight wanes, leaving fearless Men dauntless in the sweet glow of after day Transform to mere whelps. Tremendous makings of horror, beasts of night Become entrancing and enchanting to those so weak. Pools of life flood streets, red stains eyes, hands and soul. Heavy is the heart of the unblessed.