Tristan Robert Lange

Under the Hunter\'s Moon

Under the hunter’s moon

The blood pools and spoons

Around a blackened shape,

Laying motionless in the

Autumn wake;

Crinkly leaves flutter down

The winding, fall-filled path.

A leaf catches in its hair,

The rustling noise hangs there

In the crisp autumn air.

Still, lying there,

A shell

Exposed in the night’s air,

Crawls alive

From the inside:

The nightcrawlers’ feast

Is the overtaking

Of a pitiful being,

Struck down by a mob

Blindly \"in the right”

As they stormed, enraged,

A tiki-torch parade,

The solitary soul

Fell on the blade

Under the hunter’s moon.

© 2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.