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 sjcm1721@gmail.com  and you can check out her short stories at sorenlysander.wordpress.com.

 

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