Hunted

Darkness falls, and with it hope    

    We sit waiting for our time

    We people of the sun.

The predator draws near, sharpening his claws

    Upon bark and stone, 

    Upon bone and gristle.

Cries to the moon, dreams of him

    Tearing apart your flesh

    Feasting on tender innards.

The moon rises, a gift to prey and hunter.

Maybe dark machinations and plot

    Are all I can muster.

        Fractured, spiraling thoughts.

            A gift and a curse as I 

                Careen from insecurity to hope

                    And back again.

I feel his jaws upon my flesh,

    And I shudder in terror

    And sweet anticipation.

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