The Hunter's Lament

The hunter's arrow

Sleek and swift

Pointed straight at my foot

What he was aiming for

Could not fly

 

The clouds were not his friends

Focused too much on the wormy muddle

Of lingering water

There was nothing in the sky

As to how much there was below

The hunter's gun

Aimed at my head

Carried the soul of a man 

His mouth wide open

The tunnel

 

The machine was his enemy

Sleek and sly

Of the times that

There was nothing to shoot at in the sky

To as much as there was below

 

The hunter's knife

Pointed straight at his chest

Suffering feelings of unrest

Of blame--

Of Darkness--

He could not win this game

He left

And he wrote on a note

Don't look down

This poem is about: 
Our world

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