By The Tail

Silent as the wind

that breathes exhales in stealth

among the shadows,

the predator waits and watches

it holds terror in its fangs,

you're aware it is presence

know it will attack,

doesn’t do any good to run

for death and the hunt

always are part of its season.

 

In the bushes groped

like a doe desperately looking for escape

the mind seeks reprieve

from the blur of stripes.

 

Soon it will be too late

claws will draw their blood,

and the tiger will explode inside

cub that slept in its den

will arise by screams

from the wound,

which will bleed their victim

until the beast inside

has a taste for feasting,

can never go back to innocence.

 

Joining the prowl

infected by the tail

that curled around a new year

where the heart

pants from the virgin chase,

feels the malady of courage

in transcending shockwaves

of fear and awe.