Creeps up snarling
Yellow teeth sharp
Stomach contracts
In anticipation
Heart is set for fight
Never flight
Never freeze
Always charge
But there is nothing to charge against
No one to fight
But myself
Brain is stuck in an archaic pattern
With nowhere to go
No long boat to board
No swords to draw
No arrows to aim
No spears to sharpen
Paper and pencil sometimes
Are not mightier than the sword
The soul remembers
Saber-teeth and battles
Poetry by Nathalie 