Poetry

A New Type of Predator

The game I play,

Is without weapons,

But the mind.

Times have changed

And so has the game.

Brute strength is obsolete,

Compared to cunningness.

Instead of barbaric weapons

and honorable skins,

Three-piece suits, Rolex,

Armani, Tom Ford,

Trips to St. Barts,

And on the arm of a

string of twenty-something stunners.

I am a Predator,

And survival is key.

A Predator in the past,

Was never really picky.

Times were hard on the hunter,

The Prey had the advantage–

until now.

In a world of cutthroat politicians,

And ruthless business men,

It is a Predator’s den.

A new battlefield,

A new hunt.

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