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Poetry News Post #1825

A Hunter and His trap

Written by: Vidnya
Date: Monday, July 2nd, 2018
Addressed to: Haern, the Hunter

[Blood has been used to ink this scripture]
A Hunter and His trap

There once was a Hunter, trapped was He.
Unable to free Himself, His plight, plain to see.

A mighty band of mortals choose to set Him free.
His sibling, The Changing One, helped it be.

Thankful naught was this Hunter to enjoy the gift given.
For to Him, all should bow down, for transgressions to be forgiven.

A mortal man, against the Hunter, did stand.
This mortal man, my dear husband, Richan.

Imprisoned within His cage.
This Hunter will face, this mortal woman's rage.

To force another's will.
To kill, kill, kill.

To act without thought.
In fact, that is what this is all about.

Another's reckless actions swept under rug.
For the Hunter to act as her personal thug.

A god to me He is not.
A spiteful child, deserving of what He had got.

Perhaps Kaarn should have been released to battle the Hunter face to
Perhaps, then, I might once again see, my husband's darling face.

But the Hunter did beg, the mortals to leave that place.
Such a mighty god, I think not, in this case.

Fearful He was, as He ushered all away.
Weak and useless, is all I can say.

Afraid to fight a foe His own might.
A Hunter of mortal men and women, that's not much of a fight.

A prison wrought in divinity, unless the man were to beg.
Come on now, Hunter. Don't pull my leg.

He will never beg, never submit to You.
Infact, You know this to be true.

A pot called the kettle black, Hunter we fear you naught.
A freedom offered, no, a freedom bought.

Hunter, he will not bend or break in Your cell.
I hope You enjoy Your self made, hell.

He will forever remain there in Your trap.
A man of his resolve, takes no God's crap.

A Pride, wrought with distention.
Oh did I forget to mention?

Cheaters, liars and useless drones fill its ranks.
I have honour and I had enough of them, Thanks.

No apology will be given to that Pride.
At least not until my husband is again, at my side.

Keep Your own, set in their ways of disrespect.
But, hey this is we what have come to expect.

A Hunter once trapped on bended knee.
Though he is trapped, that, will never be my husband You see.

Take Your spear and hurl all You might.
Your actions are wrong, and will never be right.

I bear Your wrath already in this state.
My husband You took from me, my mate.

I care naught anymore.
For I honour the Hunter, no more.

[Shattered, bloodstained obsidian chips remain at the bottom of the page
in a large -V-]

Penned by my hand on Quensday, the 7th of Chakros, in the year 474 MA.

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