The Beast

The Beast Runs Through The Grassy Field.

Paws Push Against The Earth, And He Pushes Back.

Running Against The Wind, The Beast Must Not Only Fight The Nature Around Him But Also, Himself.

Knees Weak From Starvation, A Wild Desire In His Heart, To Kill Or Be Killed.

The Beast Can Hardly Make A Distinction, The Light Of The World Around Him Seeming To Reflect From His Eyes, But Never Enter.

He Is Tired, And He Stands Opposed Another Beast, If He Could See Clearly Would He Recognize It Was A Beast Just Like Him.

But He Can't See Clearly, And His Mouth Is Dripping A Sad And Savage Drool. He Must Go In For The Kill.

He Lunges. And Let's The Air Take His Feet.

Moments And Eternities Co-Exist, Motion And Motionlessness Made One.

This Is The Life Of The Beast.