The Beast In The Woods
Its eyes pierce my soul.
Deep crimson, they are.
I try to lift my rifle, but I find myself frozen in terror.
I’m trembling.
Trembling!
Its fur slick and black.
Its powerful jaws, filled with crushing teeth, easily able to kill me.
But its eyes.
They are evil.
Intelligent, and filled with hatred.
Filled with an unyielding fury.
Burning, the damn thing’s eyes look like they’re burning!
This horrifying beast, amongst the corpses of a family of rabbits.
I was hunting those.
It got to them first.
I slowly raise my rifle, desperately trying to quell my nerves.
And it’s walking towards me!
Oh God it’s walking right towards me!
It’s taunting me!
As if it’s telling me that I can’t do it.
I can’t pull the trigger.
It stops right in front of me, blazing eyes locked onto mine.
My breath is heavy!
It knows I can’t do it.
And in its eyes I see a glimmer of joy.
A sadistic speck of happiness, prancing around in its fiery eyes.
I drop my gun.
This thing is a monster, I know not why it is so, but it is taking joy in seeing my fear.
It turns its back on me and walks away.
Into the blackness from whence it came.
Shaking with dread, I walk back to my cabin.
Mind racing, thinking of that creature, that child of pure evil.
And God help me when it comes back.
I wrote this for fun, though it is a rather solemn topic, that being the wolf representing mental illnesses. But although that is how I interpret my poem, you may interpret it any way you wish, for that is the true meaning of poetry.
