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wail hunt
I blundered …
through the dark forest -
I knew where I was headed
though I’d lost the trail many hours hence
but darkness had now fallen
and my face and arms
were etched red from my many stumbles
(tripping in the inky black briars) …
the scream came again
though scream was not the word for it -
no, not nearly the word
for the night dripped a vile voice
that had no definition -
that moved with no bearings but
those of the dark mists
and the sanguine fluid let for their causes …
a sound like no other
that took the shadows, the dampened
deep, and the rooted rot
and strangled them like a jealous lover
an unholy wail of heinous intensity
wrapping the gloom in a
terror unequaled
and wringing every dream and
star and hapless hope from the night
like a vein …
wrung of its coursings …
its echo growled in the brambled wood behind me
my tortured tympans aching for a silence
that would not be …
I glimpsed a bit of starlight ahead, hoping
and the horrid yelp came again
chilling my marrow as I stepped into a clearing
the forehead of a crimson moon
peeking o’er the eastern reach
daubing the ground fog
and turning the glade to bloody brume. …
yet, the sound was nearer
a wet, guttural tone added to it
and it was clear now that it was chasing ME -
hunting me …
though just what and why
I dared not imagine …
for I was miles, still, from home
cold, damp, and nearing exhaustion
and this night of howling trepidation and pursuit
had just …
begun.
Copyright ©
Gregory Richard Barden
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