Hunt
The taste of blood is on his tongue
A scent carried by the wind
Haunches move to a rhythmic song
A song only he can hear
Beneath the moons dim glow
His eyes have found the prey
His mind is drawn to slender throat
And flesh torn away
He is the horse and rider
A silent Death approaches
Space between the two grow tighter
But only one will notice
The reapers shadow cloaked in fur
A scythe sent to harvest
A single lone but deadly cur
Twisting through the forest
Upon his pounce, the kill is swift
His jaws are locked in place
A final jerk and bones are split
A painting of gore and grace
Now to return, since he's through
With another life he's smothered
A Death to all that he pursues
A savior to his brothers.
Christopher Pitts/2019
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