The Hunter and his Prey Arendt, The Wolf in man’s flesh! Woke during a midsummer’s dream—
Below! In sweetest wine he drinks, under the sun that feed his spirit, in
Combat, fierce and without the mercy of a woman’s scorn.
Destined to rise upon his spirit, he rose from his rest,
Entering the thick Colosseum, his spear he handled for the next battle.
From above, the sky is heartless blue in spite of gray-white clouds it covers. Glorious, the hero steps forth, receiving the audience of the cold wind.
High praise the oak trees give him, their height truly match his spirit!
In thickness of his bare foot does he step on the hard dark soil,
Jeering the victim that may catch the point of his rage-filled spear.
Knowing the Warrior that enters the grace of God’s Eden, she rises from rest. Lulling the whispers of the breeze, the final petal she plucks.
Moving gracefully, she prepares her white dress to be stained scarlet passion. “Never I have met a man to end my heart, I give my soul to you, O hunter”. Operas of angels fill the air with fickle songs as the Hunter dashes to destiny. Pray did the Prey fill in her heart, the sick darkness of his spear she fears.
“Quell your anger, O love, why must your love hurt me so!” She cries.
“Revenge did I not seek when I broke your heart, my tears beg!”
“Sweet, sweet grace do I seek towards my heart, I cry for you, O woman!”
“Taint my spear with your blood, for I take purity, no remorse!” He screams. Under the glorious heavens that seek fame and glory, The Lovers meet no rest “Verily”, the Hunter speaks,“That if my heart cannot go on, then murder I must” Wake did she and prepare as the spear pierces the heart of the maiden.
“XI”, echoed Lordly, heavenly Olympus who speak of his number of his victims, Yearning for forgiveness, her hand reaches on, her smile was his vindication. “Zephyr, I call our child. O Arendt, may your hunt bring you peace”
