Death Rattle.

Somewhere out there,
In the forest of early morning fog,
Hiding in plain sight,
A woodpecker is hunting his breakfast.
The rattle of his power drill
Tearing apart the trees
Cuts through the mist
While his prey lies trembling
With nowhere to run.
The air vibrates with menace,
A sparse, echoing soundtrack
For an almost silent grey world.

You will not see him,
And nor does his victim
As a life ends in a moment.

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2 comments on “Death Rattle.

  1. Mike says:

    Your phraseology also provides the soundtrack in this lovely piece. Very well done.

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