The Hunt

Stripped flesh
laid bare bones
smoke & dust clinging
eyes stung by fire & brimstone

The hounds move amongst us
Feverish, whining
Salivating

We spy it then
The reason for this hunt
Atop the hill a spire
tattered pennants
flaccid in the still air

Cursing, we trudge on
wading through the stagnant pools
turned crimson with blood
disfigured faces leering
eyes full of reproach

We make the warding signs
dark magic is afoot
hastening forward
our hounds, cowering
nervous growls from deep within

A light appears atop the battlements
tempting us to flee
yet knowing what we know
forward it must be

Nearing the archway
the air grows colder
steamed breath and foetid stench
unseen fears

A cry!
was it the fiend?
Alas, Piotr is gone
a bloodstain where he'd been

Chilled, we move closer
eye's feral in our fear
Our hounds have long been silent
Not one of them is near

Ten there were, now only three
Ivan, Simonon & I, leader of this band
three days and nights we hunted
never seeing blue sky

The enemy had raided
taken of its fill
our party it did dwindle
with every frenzied kill

The three of us that are left
we slowly walk inside
a table there full of food
by glowing fireside

We sit and sup
no questions asked
drinking of our wine
With feral eyes
and bloody smiles
we remember olden times

Days of youth when we did breathe
a time of warmth and lust
now we just enjoy the hunt
a chill upon our bones
for even the dead must eat
and so we feed on those with us

© 2005, Mosquitobyte