I am its prey.
Destined to be mauled.
To be chewed up, ripped apart,
Swallowed whole. Consumed entirely.
Its claws strike truthful terror inside of me.
Its roar taunts and disorients all paths of escape.
Run. Run for the hills of soothing mediocrity.
What a pity, the beast in the dark grins at me.
Salvation is not found in silk robes.
In cushy dreams of pleasantry.
Or in tales told at age old.
Unless ‘round fires you share
The scars and flesh opened and bare
Battle-hardened and heart softened we dared.
Commentary:
For this poem I imagined our purpose, our life’s calling as a panther. A predator. Watching you. Following your every move. Waiting to strike. Rather than us chasing our purpose. I believe sometimes it’s the other way around. Where our calling chases us. But only when we’re ready. And many steer away from their calling and opt for cushy pleasantries and a life long-lived. Which is a beautiful thing too. Yet, if we want to live life fully, then let ourselves be mauled. Step into the danger of being vulnerable about your passions, about being courageous in love. Throw yourself into the jungle, into the thick of it all. Envigorated and inviting in your predator of purpose.