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The heartbeat of the weaken prey furiously pounds
like a drumbeat of impending doom; while out on the Moor
the all too calm predator senses with an evil thirst, his kill.
Taken by surprise from behind she had only faintly heard
the sound of her fear as it coated the knife he used
to separate her from her beauty and youth.
The bordering woods remain deep in a long, dark and foggy sleep,
as Death patiently awaits with the baited breath of heath and peat;
for the young bare breasted demoiselle to expire from the seriousness
of her wounds. Gravely he stalks his quarry to the chosen spot
where he shall release her soul as a sacrifice to his demonic gods.
Coming face to face with her killer, he slashes again at her throat
with the cold sharp hatred he holds firmly to his fatal plan…
just as the first morning wildflowers awaken as the only witnesses….
2008 © T Sheridan
Ted Sheridan
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