The Panther

His gaze has grown so weary from the passing Of bars that there is nothing it can hold. There seem to be a thousand bars about him, And, out beyond a thousand bars, no world. The mellowed stride of sleekly powered footsteps Revolving in the smallest ring of all Is like a dance of strength about a center Wherein a mighty will stands numbed in thrall. Only at times the pupil's soundless curtain Is reeled away, letting an image start Inward through the taut silence of his sinews And come to nothing in the heart.

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sergey May 20, 2013 at 7:45am

This is awful and robratterman sucks!


robert-bobert May 21, 2013 at 3:10am

Yeah, this guy is just nuts!

robratterman May 21, 2013 at 3:12am


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