I am He who stalks Summer's riddled age,
striking in a spectacular display
of splattering essence and flying debris,
that leaves my prey in throes and gasping,
to catch its last warm breath.
I am He, whose gaze watches
my victim's body shiver and eyes darken,
as I gnaw at marrow and flesh,
devouring all but the grisliest tidbits,
to a picked skeletal frame,
before I spread wide wings,
scattering up dried bones,
and air away.,
A Hunter, A Killer,
Murderous Slayer of Living.
Far more fitting names
than Autumn or Fall,
whose names denote little of
my ferocity, my wildness,
my lust for vitality.
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