A Hunted Hunter
Like my forebear, a hunter I am.
Skillfully, I hunt'd on life's every field.
With my horde I ran life's race,
Chased anything that cross'd my path.
Undaunted I hunted for wild games,
Until with awe they mention my names.
On life's every ground my arrows flew ‘n' hordes furrow'd,
For fame ‘n' a place on life's pages I hunt'd too.
I hunted for love ‘n' everything that came with it.
For fortune's hand I also wooed,
Till my nest she made her rest.
Then for power I go trapping,
Till my muscles out they puffed.
After every pleasure I hunted.
For knowledge I hunted too till I a sophist be.
Then i hunted for friendships,
to fill a void within my breast.
The more I hunt the more miserable I become.
Now everything I possess'd. me it possessed,
Till every game I hunted me they hunt.
Like me, so 're you.
For various prey you did hunt.
Take heed folks, lest you fall;
A prey of the very games you did hunt.
For all our lives, after vanity we hunts
At our death we're choked by regret,
Then we ask if ‘twas worth the while.
For games dearest to us we left unhunt'd,
While hunt'd by the needless games we did hunt.
Before you draw that bow, make sure it's worth the kill.
So like me you're not preyed by your prey.
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Comments about this poem (A Hunted Hunter by Dave BenOdafe )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(January 30, 1935 – September 14, 1984)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
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