I know who I have been.

I know who we are now.

We are a lion, grown large and raised

by civil, petting hand. Until one day

in play, we find my mouth and tooth

encircling civil flesh. My petted nature

falls away. We taste the feel of noisy,

civil flesh, and some dark nature

peels away the petted overlay.

We lose myself.

Lions have their pride.

Dark natures there reside.

© 1995, John F Deethardt II



Young spirits crack and fail,

and trail dark natured tribes.

Until one day, in carnivoring,

the self is pricked by horn of falling feast.

They flee and leave no we.

And forms of I recur and leave

the Me to face a civil race.

Lost times that were and are to be

will haunt My healing cage.

I turns them in for time.

The we was never free

in gang captivity.

©1995, John F Deethardt II

More poetry on my web site——->to the right column—>



Published in: on December 6, 2007 at 11:17 am  Comments (1)  

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