Mark R Slaughter (1957)

The tiger steals alone in stealth -
His camouflage, a natural wealth
Of predator's keen survival.
He'll cast you down in undetected tidal
Waves of claws and teeth
To pin you bleakly underneath.

The tiger stalks in jungle shade -
His deadly silence on parade
For unsuspecting tender souls:
With perfect timing, he controls that
Pounce of deadly scope
To leave you now devoid of hope.

The tiger's handsome might is shy -
To catch his visage is to die,
For you'd have faced his brawny frame:
In brutal flash of orange flame,
Your final ounce of life a hint
That you
Were once
His game…



Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009