White Tiger
Stealthily prowling through the tundra of night
With a pelt as white as a pale, foggy sky.
Black lightning cracks through a blizzard.
The moon is on his fur, the stars are in his eyes.
A small rustle in the small, leafless underbrush.
A rabbit crosses his path.
A growl deep in his throat, low rough intimidating.
As silent as the night itself, he creeps up on his prey.
Quick as a flash, the fragile creature is broken and lifeless.
Powerful jaws devour the limp, defenseless rodent.
Blood pools on the ground at the tiger's feet, seeping onto its paws, staining the silver fur a malevolent red.
Beautiful and serene, yet a bloodthirsty killer.
So beware of the creature in which ferocity never sleeps.
With a pelt as white as a pale, foggy sky.
Black lightning cracks through a blizzard.
The moon is on his fur, the stars are in his eyes.
A small rustle in the small, leafless underbrush.
A rabbit crosses his path.
A growl deep in his throat, low rough intimidating.
As silent as the night itself, he creeps up on his prey.
Quick as a flash, the fragile creature is broken and lifeless.
Powerful jaws devour the limp, defenseless rodent.
Blood pools on the ground at the tiger's feet, seeping onto its paws, staining the silver fur a malevolent red.
Beautiful and serene, yet a bloodthirsty killer.
So beware of the creature in which ferocity never sleeps.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.