Marched Briskly

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Marched Briskly

The hungry wolf inspected the fallen hiker,
the injured man couldn’t move,
his eyes closed as his mind tried to soothe,
not realizing he was being watched
with what looked like blood thirsty anticipation,
the hungry wolf was full of concentration,
he could feel a meal,
driven by a carnal sensation,
the injured man wouldn’t put up a fight,
it was dinner for the wolf that night,
a tasty meal in his sight,
the injured hiker knew nothing could sustain his fall,
and for the hungry wolf it was a dinner call,
after the chilling night,
the day brings light
and toward the woods the wolf marched briskly back,
stomach full,
and he ate without an attack.

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Poetry is what is lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

Atanacio’s Poems (43)

Title Comments
Title Comments
In A Cool, Dry Place 0
Masking Her Fate 2
Complete The Beasts 0
Souls Sang 2
Guilty, And He Knew Why 0
Eyes Smoldering 0
Quiet The Cries 0
A Slim Figure Rising 0
He Sensed Defeat 0
Calm Passed 0
Marched Briskly 0
Trinity Sunday 1
He Stood In The Shadows 0
Familiar Stranger 0
Ocean Air 0
Earthbound 1
Into Glazed Eyes 0
Proof Of God 1
Peculiar Brush With Death 0
State Rested 0
No Sign Of Regret 0
First Kiss 0
Asphyxiation 0
Condemnation 1
Her Emotions Were Mummified 1
No Kingdom Come 1
Deck Red 0
God's Eyes, Grim 1
Floated To Heaven On A Dream 0
Nothing More Than A Dream 0
A Flamboyant Amber 0
Life Fell Prey 0
Emotions Sift 0
The Silence Was Unnerving 0
Die... 0
This Game 0
Only A Voice Mail 0
A Flamboyant Amber 2
Soft Kisses 1
Ghost Shook Her Head 1
Exhilarating Freedom 0
Muted Chatter 0
Putting Death On Hold 1