The Gathering

The full moon illuminates a small corner of night.
The tops of trees glisten under radiant beams of light.
They gather in darkness upon the mountainous peak;
Heads lifted skyward as they hauntingly speak.

Predators, dreadfully viscous, possessing beauty so vast.
Wary prey take cover, glimpsing the eerie shadows they cast.
Tonight the group will hunt, satisfying their most basic need;
Eliminating the weak and the aged as they primordially feed.

Through dimly lit woods they methodically search for the scent;
Precisely determining the time and the direction she went.
Slowly they close the gap between themselves and the doe,
With each hurried step the unbridled frenzy continues to grow.

The graceful opponent relentlessly chased through the hills,
She will eventually succumb to supreme predatory skills.
The inevitable meeting is a fatal and predictable tale;
I’ll only describe it as nature, leaving out the grizzly detail.

Some would declare such a chase horrible and inhuman.
There are no rules, when it comes to natures balancing game.
It is by design not by ethics; life is taken and also sustained;
A lifecycle whereby many benefit from the one that is slain.

So when your ears witness the ghostly howling of the pack,
Shivers involuntarily running down the length of your back.
Be certain a gathering is about to take place and hunt to ensue,
Be thankful for the doe, lest the wolves be coming for you.