Out Hunting

Something I wrote as a result of some frustrating thoughts I was having about artificial power.

The Huntsman closes in

On a wild family

Their tracks adorn the earth

Imprints on a gritty mixture

Of snow and dirt

Having followed them for days,

He is ready

To sink His teeth in their remains

The flesh-pink hue of a setting sun

Dawns on their final resting place,

A dark and shallow cave

Cornered. As His stained boot

Crosses into its mouth

And the barrel of His gun rises up

And a grin spreads across His face

And a girl whimpers,

And a boy swaggers,

And their mother whispers

Parting words

Three quick flashes, three mortal yelps

Three more savages to fuel His mirth