Dark Horse

The dark horse

in a land full of sheep

sits atop a moutain,

with blood on its teeth.

a blood red glare

swimming in its eyes

a killing stare,

full of despise.

perched apon,

its crested hill

it sits and waits,

perfectly still.

Sits and waits

for its chance to pounce,

sits and waits,

for the gaurds last round.

and when the darkness

falls like a sheet,

the tall beast stirs,

from its silent sleep.

It descends its throne,

to the grimy beneath,

Blacked tongue,

licks razor sharp teeth,

lips peel back,

like a discarded sheath.

The air is filled,

with a painful shriek,

the only sign,

the horse is awake,

awake, and ready to eat.