Starving the Monster

Starving the monster in the hole, anger is hot, spite is cold. The walls are bare and they're thin. They won't stop the outside coming in. Rabbits can speculate. Turtles must hedge. Move quick, never guess, trust no one. Cross the finish line alone. Straining to hear the world about, day by day to fill the hole. But across the pasture green, somewhere past the sunset sheen, no one saw the rabbit slip, falling into the once sunny abyss. The windows are open, despite the cold. The outside's in, pouring into the deepening hole. The turtle will win. The rabbit is gone. Turtles and monsters, they’re not the same. So, blame me not if I was too cold or, perhaps, too slow to fill the hole.