The Power

I, the subject, set out with intent,

I move to stay hidden, consider my scent.

It, the object, that coveted hide,

Will bow to my prowess, I'll not be denied.

I, the hunter, blend in, disappear,

Keep my hand steady, breathe out, show no fear.

It, the hunted, unknowing, awaits,

Unaware of my coming, possessed by the fates.

I, the seeker, search on through the heat,

Knowing that glory is mine when we meet.

It, the sought, is blithe and elusive,

But the game is not lost, only winning's conclusive.

I, the chaser, am starting to worry.

At night, in my dreams, I at last sight my quarry.

It, the runner, taunts me each dawning,

The pull of it's call draws me on through the morning.

I, the wanting, think only of it.

Restless, enthralled, my heart cannot quit.

It, the wanted, pokes fun at my want,

My scourge, my affliction, allows no détente.

I, the seduced, will not be diverted,

It lures me, obscures me, my power subverted.

It, the seducer, consumer of days,

Jeers at me, toys with me, laughs as it plays.

It, the subject, pulls me up by my strings,

Makes me dance, makes me sweat, runs round me in rings,

Me, the object, schooled, owned and bossed.

It ties me in chains, the captured, the lost.