His eyes.

The oceans roared,
lions caught between
watery prison bars.

They rake their
claws across the
walls. Their noses

tilt up in
snarls, and their
ears flatten back.

I coax them
with flowers picked
off the side

of rail-roads and
words whispered in
ears. The lions

settle for a
moment, letting my
hand reach through

the bars and
stroke their seething
fur. Their throats

rumble with purrs,
and they release
themselves to pleasure

rather than the
pain they felt
from their imprisonment.

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3 thoughts on “His eyes.

  1. This is a great little poem in its own right:

    The oceans roared,
    lions caught between
    watery prison bars.

    The rest is prose…. but those first three lines are empowered with that ineffable quality that makes all true poetry come alive! You have that ability to compress thought into an almost haiku form. You should do just that.

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