Watching as the predator he is
Hunting without sound or movement stillness his companion
Inside his head the voices clamour seeking
Like children to be heard above all others
Yet the quiet one who shrinks catching his sight
Or does tonight call for a sporting chase
Hunt the stronger win through struggle?
They will all fall where he places them
Always he is justified saving them from obscurity
He is angered that his work brings their faces
Closer
The ones who are unknown he gave a face, a name
Never grateful for his help with immortality
One day he will stop when voices say enough
Or when glassy eyes stop floating in dreams
When the compulsion to help them is gone
Although there is a long way to go for perfection
And only he is putting himself last
If they could see they were chosen, special
Not victims but queens of his passion
The blood pooling from the latest queen harvested
He sighs at his sacrifice always his
Work to be done once more
Ailsa
©AilsaCawleyPoetry2016
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