Sunday, October 14, 2007

Time


Time, the sly one
The black panther crouching
Inconspicuous in life's foliage
Seeming to be in tireless run

We, the antelope, earth brown
Unsuspecting of his presence
Of his incomprehensible power
His senses tack us down

Slinking between the shadows
Of doubt, carnivorously
Waiting to corner the pestilent
That they are, the weak never know

It occurs to us time would speed
But like a whisper he slithers
His yellow cat eyes aflash
The signs we fail to read

Then he leaps, a racing blur
Streak of black the panther becomes
Hooves clop frantically for escape
Run, but he shall not deter

Time, you must never underestimate
And our limbs flimsy as reeds
Succumb to his ever hunting claws
A reminder 'fore he seals our fate

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

wow, i still read these :P....theyr rly good generally :) , im nt in a position to provide blow by blow criticism tho /swt heh

Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry

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