Bowhunters

Being out in the wilderness
All seeing and alone
With a wind chill like an express train
That gets into each bone
Snow coming down like crazy
But a hunters heart within
With the passion of invasion
And a mindset that can win

What is such natural beauty
Far away from cities where
This harmony doth exhilarate
And wipe away despair
Out there on a mountain
Looking for a bull
A moose who knows the vast terrain
Just a few can feel that pull

That need to take out something
That lives it’s whole life here
In the bright tranquility
Clearly without fear
Here was that bow hunter
His fulfilment is the soul
His weaponry an arrow
Proving his control

Proving He can beat the beast
In his own territory
He possesses the insentience
And the frigidity
A cold heart is the need up here
To put aside the why
Killing such an animal
Watching the brute die

Following its blood trail
The ego is on fire
The unconsciousness of Nature
And that spiritless desire
Not to share the experience
Of life and a camera where
To tingle with the knowledge
You have captured and can share

A wild soul in its habitat
You there to record its power
But NO you had to end its days
Demonstrating really how
Morally insensitive and a lethargy of lust
An insouciance and indifference
Of the living to its thrust
It’s sensory perception
And spontaneity
Of expressing a shared effusiveness
For Nature constantly

NO just go out and murder
Use stealth and ugliness
Ambush bring in pain and woe
Create such vile distress
With no regard whatsoever
The psychopathy just there
Deadened to another’s pain
Totally unaware

All weeping and all wailing
Seemed refreshing to your ear
The hunter feels the sublimity
The charm to just be here
His masterpiece is dead
his prowess caused this soul
To be lost and covered now in snow
The puffery they dole
Their swank a pair of braggarts
Who skin the hide away
Who steal whatever else they want
From their victim of the day

Such arrogance such bluster
The assurance they are kings
A cockiness and insolence
That obviously now brings
In the camera man or the poet
A humbleness to be
Capturing the spirit
With complete courtesy

To all hunters athletic or otherwise
Your mistake was living under the umbrella of death
For Only creation can take away the lives of the innocent