THE ANIMAL
I loathe the fowl taste of losing control
When dignity dies as the animal thrives
For he who’s composed is in tune and is whole
Whilst when rage takes its hold virtue never survives.
Arrows of viciousness roll from the tongue
Blood pumps and flows through the vascular routes
One feels invincible holy and strong
With the waving of fists and the stomping of boots.
It is then we exact those regrettable acts
Which say not a thing of the ethics we hold
It’s as though we’re possessed as the impulse impacts
By an inner impostor remorseless and cold.
We relive the child in a tantrum of gold
It gives us the permit of visceral zest
This licence expires as life’s norms tales are told
I loathe lost control; yet I love zeal the best.
TIM SANSOM 21ST MARCH 2007
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