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17 Years
The Hunted
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My, original poem, written twelve-billion years ago..give or take a millennium.
The Hunted,
The howl of the wolf,
it shall not haunt me,
when the long lonely echoes,
fade from the night.
The cry of the eagle,
I shall not mourn it's passing,
when the last winged warriors,
have gone from the sky.
Nor the roar of the lion,
shall it cause me to tremble,
nor to dwell in the shadows,
when the hunter is nigh.
For the song of the reaper,
I shall not feel it's sorrow,
it will find me unafraid,
in the fresh morning dew.
End.
(Ahh, insomnia, it's a beautiful thing.)