The Hunter

October 9, 2012
By Bri Sholte BRONZE, Clarkston, Michigan
Bri Sholte BRONZE, Clarkston, Michigan
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Sprinting along the thick of the forest,
Desperately trying to fight a one man war.
Blood trails down his arms
And the outreaches of trees claw at him.
He musters his strength,

Eyes his prey,
The dark shape marked with evil

His destiny has led him here,
This moment is his life.
He draws his dagger with flourish,
Dried blood clouds the tip,
A killer’s silent silver souvenir.


A black lingering silhouette,
The menacingly glorious murmur
Of the monster’s pounding paws,
Ripping through the forest.
He hears them.
He hears his heartbeat too,
Ringing in his ears like tribal drums.

The light of the creature’s eyes,
Two small, green, iridescent flames,
Flickering fire full of desire
For blood.
A terrifying image that
Fights through the canopy.
The bulk of the beast’s broad shoulders
Illuminating his deepest nerves.

A flash

The creature lurches out,
Dark muscles powering the massive being.

Finally revealed by the small traces of light,
The Hunter lashes the brilliant blade,
Catching the dismayed eye of the hopeless.
He slashes through the thick flesh,
Splitting open the beast’s neck,
Opening the untouchable predator,
Revealing the ugly insides
For the entire world to see.
But a claw finds its way to his mangled arm,
Slashing slowly and lingering in his skin,
Inflicting more ignorable pain.

A snarl seeps through the beast’s bloodied lips,
Dissolves into the whining wind
As the hunter drives the dagger
Into the beast’s chest,
Twisting the warped blade with lust.

Victory and an eternal glory are his.

The author's comments:
I wanted to write a suspenseful poem that left readers thinking.

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