The Hunter

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about the cyclical and strange nature of the world.

Submitted: May 03, 2019

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Submitted: May 03, 2019



Sometimes there's just need for touch
In order to say very much
They looked at me and as they said
Their silver eyes were tainted red:

"You'll find there's a great deal of trouble
In your little happy bubble.
So we are come here to warn
Of looming darkness before the dawn.

For there comes the shadow thief
Sucking life out of every leaf,
Out of everything that is meak and pretty
Bringing death to your wooden city.

And as he stretches through endless night,
The ground and branches filled with white,
He cannot be chased or caught
He cannot be sold or bought,

You will hide if you are wise
To avoid being his sickening prize,
To avoid the surface and avoid the place,
Where he conducts his tort'rous chase.

And as the sky turns grim and grey,
You'll cry towards it  and you'll say:
'O, stop the suffering! Let it burn!'
But that is something you must earn.

For as you hear his cold bow draw
You realise there's something more.
Cause though it breaks your tender heart
You know that he must play his part.

If his deal were to ever break
It would unleash the world ending snake.
And though it may not be the first
Of all thing it is not the worst.

So you must take comfort girls and boys:
At least it ceases all the noise."

© Copyright 2019 Mara Font. All rights reserved.

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