I am the ink that spills at close of day, A liquid shadow where the lianas sway. My coat was woven from a moonless night, My eyes are twin-lit lamps of emerald light.
My paws are velvet, hushed on moss and stone, I walk a world eternally my own. Each twitching ear, each scent upon the breeze, Is a language spoken by the ancient trees.
I do not roar to prove my right to reign, My silence is a far more potent chain. The sudden stopping of a creature’s breath, Is the only herald of my coming death.
I am the muscle coiled, the patient wait, The final, fluid spring that seals a fate. A ghost of motion, violence cloaked in grace, The untamed darkness of this primal place.
So when the jungle darkens, hold your fear, And know that something older still is here. A walking midnight, breathing in the gloom, The perfect predator, within my living tomb.
Pam Beach “Beyond the Blog”
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