Dianna’s Moon

As it rises,
Silver pale,
Casting shadows along her hair.

Bow drawn taunt,
Heart racing the wind,
Some things are worse than sin.

Watching,
Silent, steady.
Measuring glances,
Brilliant as the moon.

Sweat drenched brow,
Hands faltering aim,
Knowing she will come,
Wondering when.

Giggling silently,
Rippling as water through the grass.
Stalking her prey,
Swift and smooth as a cat.

Alas! A doe,
Wondrous and beautiful in her docile nature.
Bow still taunt,
Hand no longer shaking,
Eyes measure,
Aim taken.

Still,
Shocked from her wonderful game,
A hunter playing with its prey.

Synchronized,
The loosing of the arrow,
The spring of godly strong legs,
Two screams of pure sorrow.

The goddess atop the hunter,
The doe, barely breathing,
Pierced by so fickle a weapon.

Picking herself up,
Walking to the animal.
Snapping off the arrow staff,
Ramming it through the doe’s skull.

Turning to the human,
Who hunted on holy grounds.
Some of the things men are willed to do,
During the Huntress’ Moon.

AN All in Bold is in the male hunters pov, in italic is Dianna's pov. Underlined is ominescent pov.