Tiny lion laid so low
Who cut your mane
Your glow
The brain-land took, synapses struck
then
lost you
and it your-self and soul
The savanna called home
smacked of a foreign land
we found you hidden and weaving
your paw-full feet
scratching
telescoping
your way through the
streets of castaways, vines, and fists
Catching you then in its
paltry honeycomb
What are those points of neurons
fabricating in your mind
feeding fears
with gesturing claws
devising and fantasizing
luring my felis Leo, oh sick cat
take our love
struggling to bridge the gaps
Companions you lost
drifting through the dust
of the city cement
and ****** watered drugs
in veins
used by demons
who take the souls of lions
are now in their own generation, generating
their continued demise
away from you in your living trust
Your crown of tresses matted in tassels,
we searched the grass and pavements
we feared you were lost.
adrift,
missing and gone.
Years past,
treatments were tried
you emerged
the clearing did rise
you could now greet the day
to the love songs you hear
sing them for you,
you are the love
whose worth is waiting
Lead on
You
Your Highness, watching upon your hill
breathe slow
linger a bit
recognize the worth of time
know there is a strength
in delay
anticipate dear one
the sun rises
Standy by,
for the afterglow
Master through life
do not succumb
your homeland,
waiting
as new companions take shape
As long as there are
plenty of tomorrows
upon tomorrows
to a pick a friend,
a quarrel,
a dandelion.
accept hope,
A day for Lions will come.
A poem, revised today, which I wrote 5 years ago after my teenage son entered into a serious mental illness and use of drugs. He was homeless. He attempted suicide. He is now, at age 24, finding safe spaces in his life and mind, and no longer homeless. He is alive. He is happy, but as we all do, still struggles from time to time.
