are perfect and correct, feared and
respected, surrounded by a regal glow. Side by side
with his Empress, their love forever on show. The King of the
jungle they claimed, the conquering lion his other name. He grew
his natty as he deemed fit. Oh how they watched and resented it. How
they detested the growing of his mane. They wanted to know the meaning
behind the ‘lion thing’ “Are you a Rasta now?” Their disgust poorly hid but it
was simply just a conscious youth thing, that thing that makes the insides, of
any girl with a sense of purpose, squirm. That thing that made her proud to
be his Queen, that thing he may not have recognized, was always within
him. He was always meant to be, royal, for as you grow you begin to
see what ‘He’ had really planned. A Rasta? No,
a Lion with everlasting royalty.
Today’s theme is animal and of course I’d pick a lion but it was hard deciding what aspect to write about and getting a concrete shape was the hardest part for me.
Form: Concrete Poetry