The Hunted
Poetry
Crouched in a wilderness of mirrors
he shelters from himself
Nursing a festering darkness
with the fiery balm of night
His fortress of solitude crumbles
in a coup of rioting silence
His tryst with clouds betrayed
by a lecherous love of land
His quill bleeds in verse
with ink in shades of abyss
Chasing phantoms
of present and past
among cobwebs and old bookmarks
His back, a treacherous shoreline,
where her love goes to die
Her flaccid fingers bloodied
in a battle of attrition,
to conquer or console
his porcupine soul
Naked and shivering,
in a perpetual frost
of inchoate stirrings
Lusting for wildfires
of fully formed feelings
An errant urchin,
an abandoned love child
of faith and magic and intuition
Bound and imprisoned
in the orphanage
of sterile reason
And yet the Hunted seeks his quarry
Besieged from within and without
Dissecting
the anatomy of Truth
with the blunt scalpel of doubt
The promise of horizon
still flickers dimly in his eyes
And perhaps a faint hope lingers —
of something more than
wisps of nothing
floating in an eternal ocean
of nothingness…
