The Hunter

A bubbling cookpot over a fire

Diced meat and roots were stewing

Behind his red-rimmed tired eyes

Dark thoughts and storms were brewing

Back and forth the memories ran

In bleak shadows on his face

Lazy circles of a wooden spoon

Were in the cookpot traced

Screaming echoed in his mind

Those lost being lost again

Mechanically he raised his bowl

And spooned the thick stew in

All he loved was lost now

All his life was bled

Moonlight glinted on cold steel

As he tallied up his lead

Blood for blood he hunted

Through the land he crept

Those he sought would know him

And rue the tears he’d wept

The sun was not yet rising

When he pulled his small camp down

In the predawn chill and grey

He was a wraith without a sound

Coppyright Aarron Mondello

27/7/2018

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s