The Panther

The Panther paces.
Waiting reminds him that clarity is painful
But his pain is unreadable, obscure
Chaos to their human senses.

In time they will misread his gait
His moon made eyes
The almost gentle way his tail caresses the bars

In time they will mistake him
For something else-
Without history
Without the shadow of being
A creature without the penance of living.

They will read only his name.

They will be unable to precieve
What strangeness
Lies beneath his patience
Patience is the darkest side of power

He is dark
He is black
He is exquisitely powerful

He had made pain his lover
And hidden her completely
Now he will never forget

She will give birth to memories
They believe he had been broken of

He smells the new rain
Tastes its change

His claw skates along the cold floor

Love curled up and died on such a floor

He blinks
Clarity improves

He hears other creatures scream and fade
But silence is his

He knows

In time the gate will open
In time his heart will open

The shadows will bleed
And the locks will break