Tiger taps shoulder: ‘What if?’
Claws of sorrow pierce the flesh of your skin.
A sudden pang thrusts you off the cliff,
Into the plagued thought of what could have been.
On a bed of thorns you lie awake.
A settlement steamrolled, fleeting Vultures now away.
Down-black-stream the break does break,
Head in hands, your mind now prey.
Into the plagued thought of what could have been.
On a bed of thorns you lie awake.
A settlement steamrolled, fleeting Vultures now away.
Down-black-stream the break does break,
Head in hands, your mind now prey.
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