The Beaten Lion

Today, there is a thorn stuck in the lions foot,
Exhausted and weak,
He raises his sturdy head for another day.
Hungry, the endless emptiness of a stomach that yearns for substance.

The sun, beating down everything it touches.
Flies pick at wounds, while silently still.
Spreading their disease on the kingliest of beasts.
Unaware of their time left on the clock.

Barren wasteland spreads out as far as the eye can see,
The laughing Hyena echoes in the ears of the King.
The work, the hunt, all for nothing.
The thief of the Savannah, suffers with the lack of strength
But his intelligence is keen. Work in packs.
The world is not for the weak, the king reminds himself.

Today the Lion reminds me of me.
Feeble, exhausted, and hungry.
Weak from the harsh reality of life.
Tired by the thief and the plan.
Famished for truth.


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