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A passion fueled by prey
An attempt at survival
Lurking midnight mists
Congeal into the shaggy form
Of a hungry mind
This hunting twilight beast
At first an unnerving presence
Then
A weighted force
Rending flesh
Bleeding ink
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When the clouds turn to stone
and the harvest dies
the Savage Season begins.
Wind no longer holds wing
and the lightning flies South
it is the season of elimination.
Dearest mother Earth
hides her secret of life
and the mind rages against the soul.
It is the season of the cold Sun.
It is the Savage Season.
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