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!