A Confronting
My soul in me to anger stirs, and I
Like a panther that cannot prowl my home
Pushed back from the forest invaded, to die
Edged by concrete; attacked if dare I roam
My own God-given habitat, shall then
I become another victim vile when
My claws unsheathed, spring unflawed the air
And revenge reeks its angry havoc here?
You do not know the primal power tamed
Within the forest of my frame, your greed
Has used me, habitat and fear, now gamed
The hunted the hunter may yet exceed
And not from concrete my cold claws may bleed
But from you trembling before me weak kneed.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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