I am not sure what to say about this one, which was written in 1995. The beast is not really my soul, but she is definitely feline. The sad thing is that since I have written this poem, the metaphor of an internal beast has gone. But I was fond of her while she was around.
The beast inside is wild and free
The beast inside is really me
The beast inside was held in chains
It's the beast inside that feels my pains
The beast inside has velvet paws
The beast indside has tiger's claws
When you cherish me, it's the beast who purrs
When you scream at me, my beast feels my fears.
My beast inside is tawny gold
With amber eyes. The beast's my soul.
What is my beast? Consider that
It's panther, lion, and tabby cat.
The best of times, the laughing days
Are when my beast rolls and plays.
My beast runs free on the wild sea shore
And sports and plays on the forest floor.
My beast is free with a sense of fun
And rolls and laughs in the dappled sun.
The beast inside was held with rope
And loved and purred, but had no hope.
And one good day you said to me
'Why chain your beast?' So I set it free.
The beast inside is tawny gold
With amber eyes
The beast's my soul.