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.
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