Hunger

As the tiger who slinks through the brush

Eyes on the gazelle as he draws in close

Circling his prey, awaiting the perfect moment

To pounce upon the flesh, to sink his teeth in

To usher death into the serenity

Such is the calm of the killer

Whose spirit devours the innocent will

Of his victims, dressed in his own camouflage

The gazelle will see nothing, until he comes free

From his entanglements, to break her sense

Of complacency, to sink his fangs in

To the flesh and the serene

That in the storm of blood and claw

He will taste it all

As the sunlight falters, and darkness follows

Death upon the plains where he hunts

The tiger who slinks through the brush

Sharpens sight, tenses muscles

Knows not to rest on a full stomach

Such is my spirit, circling silent

My succulent prey, whose savory taste

Lingers on my lips long after she's slain

I feel it in my teeth, breathe it in my lungs

The pangs of hunger sated, momentarily abated

By a feast fit for the beast I have become

One whose blood may be rinsed from the plains

But whose essence remains through the reign of the sun.