The Hunter

Ravens signal the worst

Twisted neck on the fallen horse

With eyes picked out and guts all strewn about

Frosted white and red beaded mane

Steadily the hunter plans his next move

Final fire, low supplies

Moose broth boils as calloused hands weave snowshoes

Webs of willow and hide

Evening is falling again

The marbled sky, now blizzardous, looms

Must navigate fifty miles

Plod when woken by dawn

Through the silver flake, glistening tundra to where the undergrowth dare not to grow

Trudge you sullen victim of circumstance across the snow

My freezing winds blast ghastly and brash

And moan unlivable

Step and sink, climb out, next foot again

Trade two hours for a mile

Past the trees into the barrens

Rolling hills, the white plateau

Beating wind, burying, demoralize

Seven days, halfway home, impossible

Rest you beaten down damned unfortunate in these porcelain plains

Feel my strangling icy hands that seize for millennia

When the black night sky is lit and comes alive i trust you will die

I trust you will die alone

The stars and northern lights are laughing at me!

No you pale-faced winter lord, you wont bury me dead

Your snow halts my pace, your wind burns my face, starvation loosens my fist

But you great invincible with contemptuous grin

As slow blood lurks within these stubborn veins you'll have no dead

Legs revive from your numb, crippled fold-stand!

Stagger determined!

Back track to river camp

There dry twigs score the floor

Tinder under the trees

So a fire can thaw and calm me

Deliverance, the roar

You've purple stumps for hands, defeated feet are tired

My hands and feet are able, you've only miles-trudge!