It’s not the darkness, but what it conceals,
What lurks beneath the skin’s facade,
Enveloped in layers of projection and guise.
The light from the quarter moon may shine,
Just bright enough to reveal the sclera and fang
In the gathering gloom of another arcadian night.
Lips are meant to curl, to show smile or snarl
Upon the electric frame of the face,
Left to shadow’s whim and intent’s interpretation.
Disguised dreams dance just beyond society’s gates,
Eager for whispers to find their mark,
While clouds loiter, veiling the stars above.
Written in response to Ragtag Daily Prompt Thursday, (The prompt for today is Fang) and Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #352: (This weekend your challenge is to write a poem or a piece of prose in exactly 91 words using the word Intent).
The Truth About Tigers 