He prowls the night, the wanderer.
He stalks his prey, the shadow walker.
He strikes with a fury from hell itself, the monster.
His anger drives him, this anger is old yet lingers in him.
His mother left him, his father blamed him.
He can remember the fight his parents had.
The knife merged with his mother as his father pleaded with her.
Tears of sadness, tears of anger, blood of lost love.
He is a victim of his own childhood.
Now this anger subsides, until his urge to kill rises again.
This blood stained knife is more than a weapon, it is a memory.
A memory of a life he once knew, but nothing to him anymore.
He grasps the woman's neck, his strike is quick and deadly.
He is the hunter, his soul is the hunted.
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Comments about this poem (The Hunter by Joshua Perry )
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