Life’s like a jungle,
The Lion roars in what seems majestic for the first time,
Quietly and stealthily running after his prey,
Leaving no footprints behind as he hunts.
Leaving no marks but sure footed like the mountain goat
He seems adept at the prey execution.
Quite like it was always handled perhaps,
But little does the deer smell the decayed meat on his fur.
Within the darkest shadows of this life exists bigger demons
Intangible and pressing,
Stronger than a word of evidence,
Sharper than the pangs of Agony.
I call them demons, Thy Conscience, and may be Angels disguised too.
Something misplaced and amiss sure is.
Wrong, slandering, lies, camouflage, deceit that was born of character
Because of a desire unquenched for the predator.
While the grass chewing deer narrowly escaped,
The hungry Lion angered by the times
Walked back on dried grass to leave no traces of himself.
After all tomorrow will be another day!
The Old Oak that sheltered the deer, watched,
His wisdom so resilient and overpowering,
Respectable and Secure , though His branches
Still stand languid and torpid , and yet so rock-like for his deer.
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