Personal Peace

Allow yourself to fly, your weightless.
Be nimble and quick on the field.
Covered in moistness, water galore.
Dry is our enemy, water our ally.
Easing our fall from the sky, success in your grip.
Forever falling. Wind and dampness in your hair.
Gravity is the only thing keeping you down.
Height is our friend, our savior.
Ignoring the pull to the earth.
Just long enough to grip the runaway prey.
Kill is our feeling as you slide from the sky.
Landing as though you a lion.
Marinating over your new success.
Nobody is above your version of heaven.
Only one thing satisfies your taste for more.
Playing. Launching your kill to your family of wolves.
Quickly running. As though for your life.
Rapidly maneuvering the field like your home territory.
Speeding your stride to keep with your pack.
Then the transit from runner to killer.
Ultimately awaiting your moment of gratitude.
Vials of your prey’s blood cover the field like trophies.
When you fly now it will be finally to extinction.
X-rated in your heavens password.
You’re the lion with the pack at your command.
Zest is the only flavor on your tongue.