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I watch the yellow grasslands growing slow,
safe inside my window frame where heartbreak can not reach.
I'll remain the captured queen silently content with my small space.
My conscious clean, no blood to stain.

The golden beast of the sahara soaks in the open fields.
Afraid of no one and nothing but hunger.
Crowned long ago, his reign will outlast the wars, the floods, the drought.
Hands enormous enough to ****, gentle enough to love.

I remain, eyes fixed on the beast as he belts a roar.
The sound vibrates my glassy outlook, coaxing a scream of my own.
Salty tears and shuddered cries, break the crusted lips.
Pain erupts, long lodged deep in the gut.
The broken wail of majesty, shakes lose the inner me.
I'm brave like a lion.
I'm strong like a bear.
I will show everyone my loud roar.
I open my mouth and say hello like a beautiful bird.
Chirik chirik.
Power not always good friend. Power in words. :)
alisha Mar 12
though a joy, a laugh,
for lonely forms.
on grim evenings,
he craves control....

his soul threaded to countless strings
all tugged and ****** by his woeful skin
after several flawed attempts
his burdened psyche
gives a clamorous roar

for he believed
he had been, the puppeteer
You’re an extension of me, little lion
Voice, soft and ever-flowing like your
frizzy, unkempt mane
You once had trouble roaring like I do,
when you were a cub
Heard a fragile roar, one that
broke my heart into happy tears

You’re an extension of me, little lion
Character, resilient and galvanizing like
your aspirations, never-ending
You once had trouble staying strong with
your claws of positive voices,
when you were a cub
Heard a decree of triumph, one
that lifted my spirits beyond happy tears

You’re an extension of me, little lion
Voice, impactful and ever-confident
like your beautiful, voluminous mane

We are the physical embodiments of our parents.
Katie Read Feb 2
I understand what you’re going through,
It’s not nice when you feel you’ve got nothing left to lose.
And I’ve felt pain too,
a pain not too dissimilar to yours I’m sure.
One that starts off as a tickle and develops into a roar.
Lion you are,
All dressed in
sheep's garbs
fooling no one
but your own,
Mirror, mirror,
In woolen comb
a bleating roar
Trying to blend
when you were
made to hunt -
as the pride is
out waiting for
It's Tsar, to rule.
Julie Grenness Nov 2018
It's all quiet on the Eastern seaboard today,
As we pause for a century of Armistice Days,
Can any armed conflict pave the way,
For the peace on Earth for which we pray?
To the Anzacs upstairs we give a wave,
Our tribute to our young troops so brave,
We hear ghosts of cannons roar asunder,
Today we all stop to wonder,
We'll never know what they went through,
To make a future for me and you,
Red poppies are flowering again,
The silent bloom of a lost generation,
So we pause for a century of Armistice Days,
Let's hope for peace to be our way,
Yes, it's all quiet on the Eastern seaboard today,
"Thank you" is what we'd really like to say!
A tribute, feedback welcome.
Heidi Franke Aug 2018
Head can now explode
But my hair rises black
Higher than this
Feeling inside like
I am,
         the sound could send waves
In new directions.  
Capture or let go...
They both make me feel
Unable to do anything else
The roar is paralyzing me
Get me into the black hole
I need the other side
Rage-Light, flashing
      You would be blind by now
But I see too much
       Scratching out your eyes.
This one written about the chaos felt inside when trying to help a mentally ill loved one who still can not see and the broken, broken system for treating our seriously mentally ill in America.
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