| Native Siberian
Native Siberian.
Natural killer.
Sits on the throne
Of the kingdom of Animalia.
Noone dares to defy
The King.
The Czar.
Teeth to pierce
The fragile balloon of life...
An explosion in swift,
Yet chaotic,
Death.
Claws to rip flesh from its foundation.
Muscle to pry life from the living.
Unseen
In the dry grass,
More wound
Than the coils of the cobra,
More intent
Than the eyes of the wolf.
Set,
Ready to spring,
And take its prey unaware.
Like a wave,
The rippling steel-like flesh
Lunges.
The Dance of Death begins.
Dry snapping
Of the neck.
Quick.
Painless.
Or the crushing
Of the windpipe.
Slow.
Tedious.
Often,
It is a wrestling match,
A match of wills to live.
To survive.
A battle of fang and claw,
The Czar's power to overwhelm.
The predator
Will have a second chance.
The prey
Will not.
If one heart beats,
The hunt is a success.
If two,
Failure.
The hunt must go on.
Death is the Czar's business.
It's livelihood.
From the death of others
Comes life
For the great beast.
A tree falls in the forest
The Czar hears them fall
One after another...
His living room
Made unlivable.
Mosses turn to tar,
Trees into filth-belching boxes --
Irritating scents and sounds.
Silly creatures
Walk on only two legs.
Forepaws that must
Destroy to
Create.
The predator
Is so rarely the prey,
But for time,
Disease,
And the ever-malevolant
Human.
Warm flesh is no match
For the searing pain
Of cold lead.
The flesh is the trophy
Not for sustenance,
But for vanity.
Nature's beauty
Is harnessed
By the ruble.
Hung
On the wall,
Next to a Picasso.
A painting by Nature
Which no amount of currency
Should be capable
Of purchasing.
Wine flows
As so does
The warm blood
Of the Czar.
Vampires feast
Upon their victim.
Medecines,
Concoctions of Death,
Made of bones
Which hold no cure
For any illness
Known to humanity.
Aphrodesiacs
For the hopeless.
There's no chance
Of you matching
Even the Czar's
Slowest of days.
The Czar's coat
Could now be a jacket,
Worn like the stripes of a prisoner.
The prisoner
Found guilty
Of murder.
Fear,
The great motivator,
The humans' excuse
For the extermination of
"Wanton murderers."
"The Czar
Fits its role
As predator
All too well.
Too deadly
For it's own good."
Humanity's ignorance
Is its deadliest weapon.
Nature's great Death Machine
Was convicted of no crime
But its own nature
Its way of life
Its purpose.
The laws of Nature
Outweigh the laws of humankind.
But not here,
Where humankind
Promotes itself
To the role of a god.
A god who destroys
And in its place
Creates confusion.
Nature knows not why
Her children
Take pleasure
In the death of her bounty.
When will the madness end?
Is it too soon?
Is it too late?
It's never too soon.
It may already be too late.
Humanity
In its stupidity
Defies
The King.
The Czar.
The price will be paid.
The consequences
Unimaginable
For the execution of
The innocent killer.
The predator.
The Czar.
The tiger.
Benjamin Eren Robinson
© 1992 and 1997
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