I slink through hazel hills draped in dew fall
Groping the wet earth to gain solid grip
A drop of rain, a multi coloured prism block:
Path of light for that luminary they call moon
The musty smell of flesh penetrates my nostrils
Its potency tripping me with vengeance’s thrill
That tatterdemalion sleeps just a few breaths away
I sidle, scraping my stomach along the glass blades
He awakens softly at first, then with hasty alarm
No doubt, sensing my intense eyes peer through the dark
I estimate how fast I can break his presumptuous skull
Someone shouts “leopard” and the rest of the herd run
The pack leader, he stands his ground; moronic human.
His lips turn into a scowl to chant some soulless apothegm
I search his face for remorse, but there’s not even a smidgen
The hatred’s mutual, he won’t get away with killing my cub
When nature speaks through actions, there’s not much left unsaid,
In a flash of gold and black, all that’s left is a whole lot of red.
black, all that’s left is a whole lot of red
This has been a response to Wordle #77 by Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie.
Rules were as follows:
Use at least 10 of the words to create a story or poem
The words can appear in an alternate form
Use the words in any order that you like.
5. Luminary (A
8. Tatterdemalion (A
9. Sidle (
11. Apothegm (