Metaphor poem, I feel it needs something more.
|Blood shaken on this burning black night.
Wicked eyes have peirced through,
Watching the timid, her every move.
He is persistent to get on and into.
Waiting . . . lurching, the time will come.
His feat will be completed before visions of the sun.
The rabbit closing in, this morsel of a treat,
the wolf's mouth waters, salivates from beneath.
With her jugular exposed, he sees his only chance.
The beast lunges forward, No need to enhance
the force he has to use, this victim is weak.
The young one cries for help, but no one to fit her need.
Ripping at her flesh, only one thing held in mind,
"This girl doesn't know it yet, but she's going to be mine."