It’s when that hunter calls to you.
And you brace for the arrow, the shot to the heart.
Feeling like an animal.
Fighting to be heard and tolerated.
Breathing in new corrosive air that erodes your lungs.
Deeper into the jungle.
You earthquake proof your soul, and it shakes with the rain.
With a look from these eyes and the sound of their name.
Fighting to fly, to keep these wings feathered down and peacock pleasant.
Stretched over time and the eyelids of a stranger.
Keeping it all in, keeping it all safe.
Fighting against the rules you never made.
Fighting frontiers of tomorrow on the soil of yesterday.
Running with the tigers.
Forever fighting to stay alive.
Taken from ‘Everyday Miracles’ – out now
Havoc and Consequence 
I thought I might comment Mark Ryan. I see your likes are infiltrated with reflexive bots. So I just wanted you to know, I read your actual poem and Tigers do not run together. Tigers are loners. So fight like a tiger. If you wanna run, run with the wolves. Thems that pack with teeth.
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Thanks, i didn’t know that about the tigers. Perhaps some poetic license is required 🙂 I wonder if saber-tooth ones would be a better choice, teeth wise. But yes, wolves are the ones with the gusto!
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The best poets are informed ones. Here is an excellent site for you Mark because I know you are going to become a great poet. Without license. But rather, wild:
https://twilightbeasts.org/2018/01/25/sabertooth/
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