The Hunt

Up before dawn racing the sun to hope.

Off the guiding path, where the shepherd will approach.

Down in the dirt but no time for pain. Reach for desire or struggle

On the lonesome journey, all are made humble;

Even the lone wolf howling at the moon must know the path.

Straight arrows pierce deepest. In the end

Odd beginnings carry the sand.

Crooked stones drifting from hand. Through broken grass

open is the hunter seeking the blind void. The light

seals the fate of all. True pain is

loss, cause small minds to conform.

Find joy in the pockets packed between the storm.


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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