The Hunt - Monica Richards

Key to his hunt, we chased through forests and across plains

While useful, I was beloved

The story is ancient…

I could speak of Love as if it had never before been discovered…

For to fall in love is to walk through a Golden Doorway

To see sights that were once listless and dull

Glow with Life

To feel a Fire only known by those

New creatures at the next level of evolution…

Yet the story is ancient…

In every culture, there is the tale of a fabulous Creature

That disappears in forests

And a Young Man hunts with an Aimless arrow, or spear, …

A bird is then wounded —

Or a deer, wounded —

Or A tiger, shot with arrow and wounded —

And as he runs to wear he shot the creature

Instead, there lies a woman…

And I lay there, my heart ripped open

The Desperation!

The ability to suddenly forsake all earlier convictions —

To see now the meaninglessness of life’s little demands —

To let go of physical need and cast off material comforts —

To be sick with Love, to shed a third, seventh, or ninth skin —

To awaken the Sleeper —

The creature within that rages each night

Separated from its glowing, raging source of life —

To love as such, to be sick with Love

Its black clouds gripping the hills of the high deserts

Like a dragon breathing smoke and fire —

Some seek only this

And fall to a living death when it collapses

Or is this is the intention?