You smell burning carcasses
that taint the dry night,
and not a shrub to dent the black horizon.
There you stand, hot ashes in your belly
and teeth tearing away at sanity,
red vision blurring the line
between hope
and folly.
So fall the footsteps in the sand
that pound like drumbeats:
gladiators to their death,
to the lion’s den.

The void rings empty, like a church bell
in the town without villagers.
Instinct is the key to unlock all doors,
but only adrenaline knocks down walls,
leaving the lurkers to grope in rubble
towards the smell of fear.
Your hasty path has no plan
but escape—vain unto the end.

Earth churns beneath your feet
and leaves a scar in the land, miles
back until there is no beginning.
A sun is rising to mock your plight,
illuminating the wraith that wavers ahead with
your pain.
Together, pushing forwards,
nothing held back,
desperation blatant in each crashing stride,
every ragged breath.

You flee wrath with swiftness
brought about only by a skipped
heartbeat
and the stab of panic that accompanies truth:
a winner,
a loser,
one that eats,
one that dies,
raw courage, and the one
that isn’t a hero.

Here I stand in the sands of time
with Here and Now my only moment.
I breathe the clear air,
serene silence,
smiling sun and laughing wind.

Predator and prey race below;
I will be one of them
tomorrow.

I am animal.