Monday, 28 March 2011

What Lies Beneath

Untrodden, forsaken
Fresh ground undisturbed by foot fall,
Hundreds of years untended.
Abandoned.  Forgotten.  Wild.

The elegant flight of a night owl,
Wings beating heavily
Across the blue moonlit sky.
Fresh kill, still warm grasped in the talons;
blood drips slowly to the earth.
Blood and soil unite,
the sweet scent awakening what lies beneath.
Nostrils twitch with an aroma long forgotten,
Deep yearning pulls at the flesh.

Asleep for so long, the blood lust takes hold once more.

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