The lions stalk in the heart of the night.
They come, slipping across the grassland like
liquid gold, pausing to sniff the pungent
night air, keen to follow the scent
of flesh and to explore the firelight
reflecting yellow off large boulders
surrounding the nocturnal watering hole.
Just as sleep wraps her soft arms
around weary travelers, a twig cracks,
leaves dried crisp in the savanna sun
rustle while soft shadows dance on the
canvas tent wall.
There is no mistaking.
A sniffing, deep throated rumble
defines the reality.
Danger walks through
the night.
Death is close by.
Be silent.
Do not move.
Wait
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Author:
DesertWords (
Offline) - Published: June 20th, 2021 06:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 54
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments3
Great combination of words.❣
Good write DW, I was staying silent and still.
Andy
You can move now, Andy. They're gone.
'defines the reality.
Danger walks through
the night.
Death is close by.
Be silent.
Do not move.
Wait'..
really well thought-out and executed,
of our innate, survival senses
you've versed
and worded so poetically immersive
we readers, can feel that tingling sensation
on the back of our necks, trembling
evermore, with each line we devour;
showcasing how: not only
the voice of the prey - freights,
now we, the consuming predators
and interpreters of your poem
are willingly sharing, that same fearful state..
(brilliantly creative, in its concept
creating almost a self-removed feel, within
a wholesome reading experience
somewhat surreal and unique,
briefly transformative, to say the least
thanks for sharing, dear poet)
I'd also liken this to poetry
conceptualising Artistry's, surrealist effect
though, by utilising words alone
that itself is a great poetic feat
in my humble opinion
Thank you for your always thorough and helpful comments.
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