Learn more about other poetry terms

Quite child, be silent they can hear us in the dark Quite please, they'll find us I can hear the devil dogs bark Quite down they'll grab us and confine us in a place It's quite now
    A sharp noise in the air No people to stare The cold air bites my skin I wish I could be free It’s a never-ending hunt and I am the hunted
  Controlled             The president of stealth             You come upon our domain             Invisible: ghost; roaming within shadows
Subscribe to Hunted