Kill

lorenzoagnesPoetry

The gold was unlike any they had seen before.

Deep and thick and lost and sweetly familiar.

Wrapped by the warmth of the dusty air, the prancing light whispered strange things to their happy souls.

Eyes on fire, hungry for blood and flesh, exposing their certain frailty.

Thrilled alive, every breath a symphony of fear and expectation, and hope, and lust for the kill.