The Final Strike
By alesana
silence in a misty wood
damp like tears from
God
a firm fist grips a stone
ready
to aim and throw
the prey is there and grazing
innocent to its killer
leaning around the tree
the stone is thrown across the clearing
His
prey turns away
he approached from behind
doesn't make a single sound
slits its throat,
watches it collapse
and leans down to drink up the blood
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Copyright 2011 Meg Owens