The Hunter

I believe this is from a challenge from a long defunct poetry group I used to be a part of.

Chill of the night air not felt
Dead flesh fails to be aroused
Crows nested in for the night
While owls question the darkness
The hunt for blood, a nightly ritual
Stalking from shadows, blood needed

Grace of a cat, strength of an ox
Yet great care taken in every action
Beast needs a constant leash on it
With rest needed before the dawn
Burning orb will light the city again
The beast sleeps the days away

Prey surrounding, yet selective in choice
Clarity of mind near defeat
Bloodlust would endanger the creature
Yet will arise without being sated
Crimson warmth needed upon its lips
Rage held inside while it stalks new prey

A lone target takes a darkened route
Devoid light, cloaked with layers of shadow
A leap to the ground below, not a sound made
A grab, tilt of the neck, fangs find flesh
Crimson warmth flows fourth, life for death

Filled, an empty shell remains, tossed aside
Refuse now, left to decay alone
Renewed vigor again fills the beast
Life coursing within, stole from another
Even if only for this darkest night
Cycle to be repeated with the next dusk