The Hunter

In the forest of night where murders crow,

and creeping mists enshroud the land.

Where songs of death chorus in show,

and twisted trunks stoop not stand.

Betwixt the trees a pale ghost flutters,

Like a fairy she dances to and fro.

Her tresses fly like ravens' feathers,

Her skin is pale as fallen snow.

The crackle of a leaf hangs in the air,

Emerald eyes gaze into the mist.

A heartbeat sounds -- a morbid snare,

As shadows flicker in the mist.

A hunter wanders unaware,

His gun held high to aim. 

Eyes flicker-- a frightened hare,

Yet only seeking signs of game .

Unseen by the hunter, the child grins,

Her lips tender and crimson red.

Porcelain teeth glimmer with anticipation,

And emerald eyes gaze ahead.

No love nor light nor slightest warmth,

No kinship hath she felt to man.

The hunter dies without a sound, 

Oblivious until the end. 

Reviews

[lee von cleef]

I would of given him a bow but a gun will do.