The Hawk


He was handsome, yes; still is,

However, I could not look him in the eye anymore.

He was the hawk that landed on a bunny that was me,

and gripped my frail body with his talons,

so fragile, so sharp, so prickly.

He was my king; no, he isn’t anymore,

However, I look at him with high regard still.

He was the night that enveloped me

and drank on my anxiety,

suffocating, tightening, dreadful.

He was my haven; no, he left me all alone,

However, I still look out in my windows.

He was the one that got away

and fed on my patience.

I am exhausted, famished; the wait is over.

–Sarah Montenegro

Sarah is an NYC professional by day, a writer by night. She writes horror and tragic stories, and sometimes, about past lives. Recently, she tried dabbling into poetry. You can email her at  and you can check out her short stories at


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