White Hunter Poem by Denis Martindale

Starvation festers deep within, just like a burning coal
And to that hunger each gives in, that hole that's in the soul.
The wolf, like lions, tigers, bears, must hunt for food to live
And just like them, he truly shares the need to take not give.
White hunter wolf is on the prowl, as predator not friend,
Intentions cruel and callous, foul, another life to end.
With no pure white, no impure black, no middle ground that's grey,
The hunger forces him to track, to find food night or day.
Against the snow, invisible, except for piercing eyes.
While his smile hides fangs that cripple and cut foes down to size.
His claws await their destiny, their moments in his plan.
Fulfillment of their infamy, since hunting first began.
This time, he hunts, yet all alone, no other wolf in sight,
And so his heart is cold as stone and dark as deadly night.
Condemned to forage for himself, the vicious victim preys,
His cunning, running, speed and stealth, from these he never strays.
Beware the white wolf's wicked stare, he hunts without remorse.
His is no game of truth or dare, it's life or death... of course...


The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'White Hunter'.

More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com