The Demise of Shere Khan

The dark green of the jungle cloaks my presence
Thick vegetation dampens the noise of my cries
My surroundings hide me in fear of what I could do
But I can’t move, my might suppressed by traps

The King of the Jungle, how far below I have fallen
The flesh that remains is desert dry and exhausted
My ember brown eyes have melted into a sesame
My once restless tail is now a glorified fly swatter

The monkeys cry in terror in the dark canopy above
I am idle for I am nothing more than an empty gun
Age has humbled my sight and my fur has faded
The shadows mock my rule and plan a coup d’état

The climax of my role as the apex predator has eroded my divine frame and left me hollowed
The cool, chocolatey earth below offers comfort as the soldier-like ants come to finish me off

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