The Hunt

The eyes never leave and neither does the fear

Few people like to walk alone in the trees

Find a dog ahead, three days dead

Something stalks the wood that isn’t right in the head

An average godly man with his hand on a gun

Heard a sudden sound and nearly shot a loved one

Walking closer to Dante praying all the way

Stops in a clearing his eyes start to survey

Just barely making out the shapes in the gloom

Wishing he was back safe in the womb

The monster appears with no time to scream

And the man finds out that this is not a dream.

Little Ginge x


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