Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Born of a tiger

Little friend, you were born of a tiger
like the hills were born of mountains.

The tiger sleeps
in the curve of your claw,
in the twitch of your tail,
the slink of your spine;
she wakes
behind your eyes, huge
and green as the jungle,
when you stalk shadows
that remind you of things
you’ve never seen.

Little friend, you make me wonder
what I was born of.

This poem was written in response to NaPoWriMo #18: meow! on Read Write Poem.

Photo by Steven Bennett

        What characteristics of humanity do you think are leftovers from when we were "wild beasts"?


Dorkmaster Flek said...

If you want to see what we're born of, I think you only need to look at a bar or club downtown on a Friday night. Honestly, I think that primal urge to explore, conquer and propagate the species is right there. :)

Mary said...

Yeah... I'd say take a look at sex, fighting and eating. Our most primal of urges, all very animalistic. I can't deny that I feel like some sort of carnivore in the animal kingdom when I eat chicken wings... tearing the meat off the bone, with wing sauce all over my face. Haha.

Katie said...

I miss my cat.