Foxes and wolves... They're not the same creature, despite the silhouette.
Yet, I've picked up aspects of both--I think we all are a little bit of a fox hiding behind a wolf, to be honest--if you'll pardon me being a bit cryptic.
Let's face it--in spite of all our noblest gestures
We masterminds invented black and white,
And fooled the greatest minds--our own.
I muse upon this as I look out through the Trickter's eyes.
If white on white on white is our world
How then is it that we embrace black?
Amorality, essence of existance--
I shrink back from assumption, assume your form.
Even the finest beast revels in his own success.
It often comes at the expense of a mouse.
It skitters about, and I play with it between my paws:
Freshly burst from delicate hands.
Yet another world we do not explore--
The realm of scent, a discarded memoir
What a noxious beast, that wears such beauteuous and vivid colors.
It seems we only use 'that' in disdain for our world now.
Growing sleek, smaller, meek
Size is not a mark of the weak.
Enraptured, I disassemble truths
Exploring every possibility.
My stature makes it a thing of ease for me.
The curiosity: precociousness of this beast,
Is so very dear.
The angles, the curves,
That bloom of ears and tail,
The arrow point of that flattened head,
It all says "direction" to me.
Quizzically, I hide my gender, my intentions,
My life and deeds...
My human face...