The Lion’s Den

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Loneliness seems to be

chasing me to the lion’s den.

As I walk rough, muddy banks

the dark river whispers and flows.

I struggle in torrent thought,

always on the run,

one day claws will catch me,

rip out my throat;

for now, my tongue is silent,

as words beat upon stones,

slowly sinking in cruel waters.

Night sky, dim sullen stars

extend to the end of everything,

as fierce eyes are mute,

dead winds refuse to take me home.

Copyright © 2019 – Brian Nettles. All Rights Reserved

Photo Credit: Pixabay (ljcor)

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