a two part free verse poetry

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THE HUNTER

The meadow was empty,  hallowed trees—painted lifeless.
Dressed in white,  she gave up her black garb,
Tired—given up long ago,  mourning something that still lives but is gone.
The beast hunted her,  blood dripped from the wound.
Yet she took the spear,  pieced a beast brain—blood pooled.
A different nourishment yet her eyes were empty and scared.

Win is nothing without purpose,
And for those souls who had no choice but to race their shields,
Called the merciless but in need of mercy,
Echoed silent prayers,  kneeled on the ground,
Yes,  even the toughest ones begs,
Sadness is a vile devil.

In the end the huntress was a little girl,
Ate the forbidden apple and was put in the spell,
Cried a river yet chose to swim as the once small puddle threatened to kill,
Longed for a hunter,  not a hero,  to show her the world apart where she lives.
She doesn't want to be saved.
She wants a kin,  together on an adventure.
Sadness is an archer—never missed even one tries to escape.

THE WOLF

The ground was cold,  his body laid flat,  seeping through it all.
But he's used to it.
The coldness and loneliness.  As if a howling wolf on a winter night.
He tried on every people,
Yet his loyalty got shunned.

Who would want a pup dressed in a beast's skin?
No matter how he snarl,  it'll still sound as if a squeak,
No matter how sharp his claws are—still regarded as b-grade and weak.
Dropped a pebble in the well,  eye's closed,
To those who wishes for the impossible,
To earn a right for validation,
That should be there but never given,
Crying is a hopeless trap.

He like an adventurer searched for treasures,
Yet all he got was invaluable stones,
Laughter of those who judged, said,  there's no more chance,
Efforts were spoiled as if his worth was dirt for every map he conquered.
He doesn't want to save anyone.
But longed for something he can call his.
Cherished.
Crying is a prison,
To those who want to be seen.