Tuesday, 9 April 2013

Haunted by the Hunted

In the mist
running as his side did twist
bare feet digging into the thistled ground
his heart beaten fast
his head low
feeling each pound

The heat and sweat
it fell from his head
wanting to lay down
to make his bed

Finding a space
somewhere to hide
no one to seek him out
no one to take the words from his mouth

As the stars shone brightly
his blanket above
night time calls
there she was
his white dove

An image of her
shinning away
making him smile
not to be afraid
or turn into decay

His mind was his shelter
his memories they ran
where did he belong
this hunted man

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