Tiger
Orange and black with sharp yellow teeth,
Long coat streaming in the wind 
As you chase through long grassy fields.
Grace you have, an art form that cannot be denied
Nature is beauty twisted in pain
Like a coil in a never ending snake.
Flesh torn like angry devils
Feverishly hungry for the soul.
An appetite that is never settled
The sweet drink of blood curls inside your tongue.
Lapping, you fulfill your destiny, souls interwined.

Gentle beast purring among the heated breast of beastly kings
A domesticated cat you are not
Cubs playfully jumping without worry of maturity.
You spray your scent on everything you pass
And lick the sweat off each other’s backs.
Yawning, you fall asleep as flies hover around your mouth.

Little tiger with all your jaunty stripes
How can you lay around all day 
When you killed last night?
Big headed mane, you are hunted
As you hunted, hunter becomes prey.
With greatness you will surely die,
Like the antelope you brought down 
And the flesh you ate.
Instead, you will not be eaten but left to decay
While your skins are taken away.

With every yin, there is a yang.
The irony of what is full circle
Is a scary thought as you dream away in the heat of the day
And all I can say is I can picture myself among you.
For I am also the beast that kills and will be killed
By the same appetite that is never fulfilled.
Tiger, we are the same.

Johanna Vanderspool
September 13, 2003