Poetry and Writes

Predicting (POEM)

by my own o twisted choosing,
I'm sinking into perilous woe
so that I may at long last know
how the gray-moor rabbit
feels when it is
stalked home to its warren
by a prowling city cat.

       unsheathed! unsheathed!
         a naked trembling bud,
     this figure I would be.

I would cry and shake and nearly
fall onto my dusty hands,
repenting to the creature standing
like a shrine before my home--it is
a dark thing which hungers for
the blood of my children
and my own.

            Now I would move past
           my initial rabbit-fear, and
               I would be stronger. maybe.
                    I think
         I would yell in a voice alien to me,
            "I am a crow!" but I
          cannot change my skin
             in any sick reality,
            even one of my own choosing.

before long I'm far too deep and
the next fear crashes in--

it's immediate around me
and to the warren floor I fall--
the burrow is now flooding
with a farm-field autumn squall.
I cannot save my children--
I am powerless and small--
my entire life is such, and
          now I cannot
                                        breathe--
water diving into me, my
children's bodies curdling.
I am no use here in this warren,
I'm no use anywhere at all--
my best bet would to be to run
to stretch my legs and flee.
but a coward this makes me,
which is the single last resort
in this sickening reality.