Hunter

Into your eyes my fate remains.
Locked into that shifting ice.
Beautiful time trapped in glass.
Catching the light in amber eyes.
Hunted while you wait.
A bird in your paw.
Blood on your tongue.
The bones already in your stomach.
As the snow covers your tracks, the love leaked out, marking where we once were. Leaving the trail for others to know our fate, and to never come this way where the wolves are at play.

 

 

30/12/202130/12/2021 by Mark Ryan Categories: birds, love, wolvesTags: art, bird, blood, feathers, hunted, hunter, love, nature, poem, Poetry, snow, wolf, wolves 23 Comments