Treasures of Your Soul

Whispered words from behind a wall, to cronies gathered short and tall. “Go on ahead,” he said, “let's see.” “If I can turn her sweet on me.” So from within, she heard the tale: the rye, small, snickers, the wolves’ wails. Yet, like the doe in the fires light, the wail entranced, did not cause fright. Wide-eyed, so stunned, the morsel stood, in frozen stance within the wood. Within his reach and steady glance, the hunter broached the ancient dance. With swagger, grace, he set the pace. the honeyed tongued Knight on the chase. He spoke words of honor, brave deeds, of his claimed virtues she took heed. “No, ” said the Maid, for she was shy. “I’m afraid,” she moaned. “Do you lie?” He turned her chin, and eye to eye, stroked her fair cheek and heard her sigh. Offered cake to this starving waif, with trembling hands, she took the bait. For upon his lips and rough skin, She could, sweet-sugar, taste within. He sought the warmth of her blood; bone. He thought the conquest was his own. Yet, she too held a hope within, to bring forth the goodness in him. Oh, she could feel his aching need, 'Twas his seedling soul, she'd feed. The prey, prayed, to touch his heart. to give the Hunter a new start. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Many’s the times, his teeth came near, to the pulsing vein in her throat. Many times the Universe stopped like a dandelion seed afloat. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The hunter balked, stayed for a time, tasted the joy of her sweet wine; loving the feel of a drink new, a gift, love, offered each of you. Could he extinguish this pure light? Could He reciprocate, cause fright? Sorry, was the wolf deep within. He was sorry; she’d let him in. Sorry, he couldn't grow in her arms, Sorry, he couldn't loose to her charms. “Sorry,” on the tip of his tongue. As he left her, unharmed, on run. “Sorry.” said she, rising higher, made stronger by her pure desire. Like the ancient Phoenix, she rose, on the wings of her loves fire. And prayer floated back from above. A prayer, sent with her hearts' love. echoing his sentiment many ways. “Sorry Love," She said. "May the Wolf find his Way.”