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What it really is
 
They don’t surprise me, sometimes they
Stall it and take a while to fully arrive
But they don’t disappoint,
They are still predictable, what I expect.
Their faces may be different
There may be a small spark of originality
In the creases of their foreheads,
Their blackheads, their noses
But the eyes damn them,
The window to the soul.
When the sun rises it may appear to be
Unique in a million places,
East, west, north or south
Or wherever you are 
But it is the same sun.
Stick your head or hand into
The mouth of the tiger
And it will be only a tiger
And do what it knows to do,
So don’t be shocked when
They try to destroy you
Again and again and again.....

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