12 September 2012
Quick, reflexive, elusive, Invading your thoughts, ever so intrusive; The shade of the trees won't save you now, As portrayed by the sweat running down your brow.
Shadowed, unseen, observed; In your own fear is where you're submerged. The rustle in the bushes is terrifying; But this isn't the first time you've make this sighting.
Loud, raucous, silent; A disturbing peace that evokes the violent. The beast runs, covered in night; And it's emerald gaze shall blot out all the light.
Lost • Opuss № I