Hello :)
I hope you like this one.
I haven't written a poem in ages. This is your story. Let your imagination run wild. This poem can mean anything.
I'll be uploading each chapter at random times. They'll all be written differently. Please vote, fan, comment, and... well...enjoy :)
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Title: Predator
It's so dark in here.
I'm hiding.
Hiding. Waiting. Watching.
Peeking through a gap between the in and out.
The light and dark.
The safe and dangerous.
The good and bad.
They're looking for me, you see.
With their sharp eyes, and dark hearts, they can see anything.
They can't smell me. They can't sense me. Sight is their guardian.
They call my name. Searching. Ogling. Staring.
Tempting me with words of goodness, of light, of well-being. Their vicious tongues lash out through the air.
Tasting. Savoring. Relishing.
But they don't taste either. They have no reason to live. To survive.
Yet they still persist.
Beads of sweat drip down from my forehead forming a chain of nervousness.
I'm glad they can't smell where I am.
I don't even know where I am.
As I was running away from the beasts, I flew into any old room. Any old cupboard. Any old hole.
This one smells particularly like cheese. Old, musty cheese.
There is no light. Even if there was, I wouldn't dare to use it. I wouldn't dare give away my hiding spot.
For I know there is something deeper out there. Something even more dangerous than my seekers.
Something evil.
Something Big.
Something with a darker heart than my seekers.
Something looking. Searching. Smelling. Tasting.
This predator can track. It can track the footseps that my seekers have made. I didn't make any footsteps. I deleted all trace of my existence before searching for my meal.
After it's devoured all of the seekers outside in the black expanse, it will keep on searching. Searching for it's next meal.
It's so dark in here.
YOU ARE READING
From the era of imagination..
PoetryThese are your poems. Your imagination is the key. These set of poems mean nothing. Yet they mean anything. It's simple. I, TheSharke, do not control what these poems mean to you. You do. You are the owner. The benefactor. You are..let's call you 'T...
