“The Hunt”

~Esther Mitchell, 2011~

On darkened wings,

And with a mournful cry,

I feel my soul sing,

As the Hunt goes riding by.

Pale visions in the darkness,

A shade within my mind,

I behold the spectre’s starkness,

And think it not unkind.

I’ve trod this road before,

Its dust still clings to me,

My labyrinth, and at its core,

Rests the source of all I’ll ever be.

While some might fear the Hunt,

Run in terror for their lives,

I find no fear in those haunting sounds,

As I run toward their cries.

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