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A poem about harshness, using the ambiguity of the word 'cat'. |
The cold, grey stone lays silently Upon the rough, red woolen rug, Warmed gently by the hot coal fire. He quietly lays, curled up and snug. Impatient miaows for tuna fish, Brought upon his own metal dish. The fake coal fire raging with hate Burns fiercely in his fake grey eyes. Her fake fur ears and fake fur tale Fuelling an act giving truth to lies. Her trademark purring, feline laugh Ignores the falling red-lined graph. The cold, collosial mountain range, An arena of savage kills. Creeping out, striped with coal and fire, Pointed Teeth comes forward. And stills. The slow movement of opponent. Each weakened step both seen and heard. As whisky coats his master's neck, The coal fire burns his heart and soul. The warmth of love is distant now - He makes his own warmth, shifting coal. Each night he lays on ground - no bed, To rest his fire-striped, coal skinned head. While nibbling from his silver dish The cat stares pensive at the flames. And while a cat may look at kings, Fire has higher state than mere names. Pounce on the cat with sharpened claw, Its ash grey fur now ash far more. While nibbling at her polished nails, CatGirl stares, pensive at the note. Though she had used both strength and skill, Her series could not stay afloat. Her youthful face and emerald eyes Ignore the blood, ignore the flies. The tiger waits with time-trained eye The cover - silent, stealthy strength. An ear twitches, meal alerts. Tiger jumps 3m length. It pounces on the dust of prey. Tiger cub lives just one more day. Master waits with drink-reddened eye. His privileged fire needs filling, 'rag'. Slow! Though he can go no faster. The cat has freedom from the bag. It pounces, claws of diamond knives - The silence of a billion lives. |