La Caccia

The sun rises,

And it begins,

The rays creep along the ground,

Forcing the cold to warm up,

The dew sweats from the blades,

Reflecting the emerald hue.

The trek is long,

With the end always over the horizon,

I place steps in front of each other,

Continuing the chase.

I chance upon a clue,

A little letter left on the path,

Hinting towards the direction,

In which I should pursue,

The warm, earthy scent of my prey,

Fills my nostrils as the wind blows,

Straying from the path,

My stride becomes determined,

The trail gets hotter and hotter,

The clues become ever closer together,

As my prey feels my pursuit,

In the deepest part of it's soul,

It begins to tire and slow,

While I get ever stronger.

My prey lays upon the ground,

Panting heavily and worn,

From it's attempted escape,

I stand over it and lunge,

Forcing my weapon down into it's chest,

Diving deep into the heart,

Stopping the fear and panic,

The darkness sets in.

I awake in the dark,

Slumped over my desk,

A notepad covered in furious scribble,

An empty pen stuck between pages,

My work is complete,

Another piece written and revised.

I am the werewolf of writers,

Knowing my change in pursuit,

The adrenaline of the hunt still high.

I grab a new pad and a full pen,

Cleaning the desktop from my previous kill,

The chase begins again,

In the still of the early morning,

I steel my gaze and ready my inked fangs,

A new scent directs me to my prey,

The sun rises.