The Lion In The Other Room

Not a child anymore
Not his child any less
Struggling to bring together
Remnants of this scattered mess

Left behind, the days of trembling
The fear of impending doom
Ears pricked up to hear the roaring
From what’s in the other room

Ruled the pride here, so well named,
Presence felt when absence there
Straggled off alone, ashamed
Returned, now – not to hear him swear –

But to see his golden carcass
Stretched across a linen span:
Once the lion, so regarded,
Now a feeble
Broken
Man

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One thought to “The Lion In The Other Room”

  1. As a child who lived with a father who I was very much in fear of … it rings true… my poem Broken is about my Father.

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