Animal Poem

The Predator's Hunt

The food chain cycle never ends, and it never will end until every one of the upline predators has died and the only thing left alive is something similar to the one-celled primal ancestor of us all. If you are reading this, you are the most deadly predator to ever stalk this planet. Good hunting to you and ... try not to be dinner.

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Food

©

Published: July 2008

Crouched in grasses - sun is sinking
food will come for evening drinking
silent - still - panting - thinking,
resting in the heat of sun.

Sun goes down and sky is red
food is coming - scent is read
lust for blood engulfs my head,
muscles tense for coming run.

Here they come by twos and threes
down to water - on their knees
no scent of me is on the breeze,
my hunt is only now begun.

There's one limping - limping still
he can't run with speed or skill
he'll be my food - my easy kill,
mark him well for he's the one.

Rising - tensing for the fray
alarmed - the herd stampedes away
thundering hooves - all but my prey,
my hunger peaks - this hunt is won.

Explode from cover - extending claws
closing fast on lightning paws
pounce - his throat between my jaws,
hold him down til kicking's done.

Feasting now in cool of night
flesh tastes rich and blood is bright
hyenas hanging back in fright,
I'll hunt again with newborn sun.

more by Ted L Glines

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