The longer I press on,
The more I realize,
The hunt has always been more satisfying than the kill,
The drive that follows the hunger,
It evaporates once I've had my fill,
But these moments;
The silence,
The fear,
The trepidation,
The yearning,
The tracking,
The anticipation,
Satiate me in a way I can neither describe nor deny,
It all becomes prey,
Centered in the big, black saucers of my eyes.
The chase, the chase, I long for the chase,
Famished, exhausted, but still keeping pace,
The chase, the chase, I live for the chase,
Always in motion, never in place.
About the Creator
Dee Yazak
A technical and science writer by trade that dabbles in poetry (and occasionally fiction) for fun. Her poetry focuses on themes of aimlessness, nostalgia, and the loose, delicate threads of human connection.
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