Tuesday, August 16, 2011
It's tough to think of a tiger as a cat
Or to imagine a cat as a tiger. That
is a stretch- literally.
A killer who accepts leftovers?
Shrinking in size, a roar that cowers.
They say tigers don't change their stripes.
Evolution, with time, changes every being.
Is it a pity, or is it not? With every singe
Survival, the herd instinct, and the bio clock
All rear their heads, to stalk the one who stalked.
Memories remain of the wilds, the air of the unknown
The promise of prey to come, which tasted overblown
Will the tiger drink of the milk of human kindness?
Or will the cat bolt, seeking to sharpen claw once more
Breathe life in a skeleton, search hills again for blood, gore
Is it even possible? Or will it be too little, too late
The spirit remains, even if the flesh falls to fate.