Predatory Memories Poem by Mary Champion

A faint memory stirred
as I awoke that morning.
I could see her face -
hear her screams.
But had she really been there?
Or was it only a half remembered dream?
And when had I dreamed it?

There were ripples of awareness
centred on something long gone.
Violence had been done.
But to whom?
And by whom?

It was lifetimes ago -
but there was blood on my hands
that time and death had not erased.

Another memory - sharper now -
the excitement of the blood lust
as a hunter in pursuit of prey.
Was that why she screamed?
Was she my quarry?

No…

The mist was beginning to clear,
everything was coming into focus -
she was…

But I didn't want to know!