The Beast

Where does the beast hide? Sleeping in caves for winter? Only coming out when it needs to wash its fur?

Why won't the beast let me tame it? It's pitiful. Humiliating. Embarrassing.

It hurts him, sliding through the tiny crack and yet when he is out, he pounces.

Run little unfortunate one. Hide. Quickly. The beast is about to get you.

He sees you looking at him with your big green eyes "sitting, waiting, wishing," just hoping the beast will go back inside, just pass over for once.

You don't know if you can handle his fury again. He's ripped you out too many times already.

Why do you stay in this little cove, do you enjoy that one daffodil, lively and pretty sitting there on the bank of the big brown sludge?

Why do you stay? Because there's that tiny flower that gives you hope that someday the beast might realize you're still here because you love him?

Even though he cuts you deeply with his claws, those big sharp, pointing, dirty claws of his. You still stay because you believe he can change?

Or is it because you don't think you can do any better?

Daffodils die.

The beast will never be tamed.