POEM: The Hunters

They should not have come.

The stars sat above with silver hats
And golden eyes, whispering platinum secrets
to the distant drops of steel that stalked
so far below.

And here the steel-men’s goal:
With diamond secrets threaded through their hair
they sat in orphaned groves and sang
their poetry.

They heard the hunters, and with a start
They fled, disappearing into trees and undergrowth,
like does, like dryads, Daphne and her handmaids
all in green

The hunter in the night, his comrades close,
felt the eyes upon his back,
night-time eyes that preyed, pursued, and
picked them off.

It haunted them; they closed their eyes and saw
the bloodshot eyes and broken teeth.
It was the thing that lurked when all else died. It followed,
silent, hungry, patient.

The hunter turned and thrust his knife
beneath the ribcage of
the man stood on his left.
With golden eyes he saw him fall,

and felt hot breath upon his neck.

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