once apon a time
in a land far far away
a group of savage natives crept thru the thick undergrowth
carefull and cautios with every step
knowing the pioson that learked under every leaf
and the death in every falling foot
for many days and nights they had stalked through this great forrest
with out the assistance of food or sleep
there untainted blood running thick with the heat of the jungle
there eye's trained to the darkness that surrounded them
hardened, carved spears gripped in there fists
somewhere in the dark
they heard a snap and breathe
of the kill they had stalked for so endlessly
roaring back silently
there muscles tight and coiled,
snapping they released, like a gunshot in the blood
shooting forward the polished and crimson spear
aproaching the moaning, maimed pray they had stalked
they looked down on the young of there tribe
learning then
that the unending circle they had carried themselves in
still led to the hot blood they craved
but the fountain it poured from
gave no pride or celebration
to there hunt