Venison Manna

Venison Manna Through Plexiglas and skeletal bars the red orb of the sun descends as twilight fades into the night the last of the sun’s rays span out… Tomorrow we resume the fight and tomorrow night depends on who can inflict the kindest scars. I dream of you, my worthy foe, and look forward to the combat sport that this mysterious life’s become… and you now carry a mystery child! We both march to a victor’s drum but to keep the story short I’m now the archer; you’re the doe. It’s Christmas Eve again, my love, as gifts await the coming dawn. This phase of life behind me then and oh! the wait has cost me so… Yet still I work my poet’s pen to capture you, my precious fawn! My venison manna from above.

k.g.