The heartbeat of the weaken prey furiously pounds <br />like a drumbeat of impending doom; while out on the Moor <br />the all too calm predator senses with an evil thirst, his kill. <br />Taken by surprise from behind she had only faintly heard <br />the sound of her fear as it coated the knife he used <br />to separate her from her beauty and youth. <br />The bordering woods remain deep in a long, dark and foggy sleep, <br />as Death patiently awaits with the baited breath of heath and peat; <br />for the young bare breasted demoiselle to expire from the seriousness <br />of her wounds. Gravely he stalks his quarry to the chosen spot <br />where he shall release her soul as a sacrifice to his demonic gods. <br />Coming face to face with her killer, he slashes again at her throat <br />with the cold sharp hatred he holds firmly to his fatal plan… <br />just as the first morning wildflowers awaken as the only witnesses…. <br /> <br />2008 © T Sheridan<br /><br />Ted Sheridan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-the-flowers-saw/
