Cycle Of Blood

Like clockwork, the sun sets
Upon the age of night,
A ritual of simplistic awe,
Inspiring those to awaken to its call.

As ardent moonlight pierces
Dancing shadows in the forest,
Unlocking the prisons of the nocturne,
Veiled creatures skulk in darkness.

Crunching leaves; Eyes avert
From their previous priority, pinpointing
Sound to the shroud of fronds,
Observing in silence; Salivating in anticipation.

Now on the move, stalking in secrecy,
Pristine fangs make their lunge for sustenance.
For the predator is the harvester of life,
The critter merely a crop of the night.