The darkness fell upon the earth.
The rain is dripping from the skies.
In solitude of concrete streets
The wind is singing lullabies.
In cold and moonless youth of night
The park is dozen shades of gray.
A single shadow creeps along -
A lonely soul is out to slay.
She is the creature of the night,
Bound to the stillness of the loom.
She spends her life away from light,
For her it’s poison, it’s her doom.
The liquid fire runs her veins,
The sharp and sudden rush of blood,
The force that feeds her up and drains,
That hits her like a raging flood.
Her steps are soundless on the ground,
Her moves are swift as stroke of lightning.
Just like the beast of prey on hunt,
She is magnificent and frightening.
Still, she’s a victim to herself,
Her empty life is made of lies.
She is a prisoner of her body,
It’s her eternal sacrifice.
The Huntress
© Copyright: Марина Фордвэкс, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108051500254
Свидетельство о публикации №108051500254
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