With a crack of the trainers' whip, the ferocious lions appear
You can feel your knees a knocking, as they are so frighteningly near
The largest of all the lions, a stupendously enormous beast
Walks towards the trainer, licking its lips, as it eyes up a feast
You'd like to shout and warn him, just try to make him hear
But not a word manages to leave your lips, as you're paralysed by fear
Like a slowly moving sandstorm, you watch the large cat stalk its prey
Muscles twitch, but the beast recoils, as the whip keeps it at bay
And then a groaning, moaning roar, sending shock waves out beneath
As fifty soldiers with gleaming bayonets are exposed as the lion's teeth
Paws the size of house bricks, seek purchase from the sand
And the worried-looking trainer, now holds a pistol in his hand
Like a rocket the beast takes flight and a gunshot echoes around
And now in a crumpled beaten heap, the lion lays motionless on the ground
Then the trainer smiles and reaching down, pats the lion upon its head
And the beast gets up on its feet once more, to show it isn't dead
Your shoulders relax and your thumping heart slows down a beat or two
A wry smile forms across your face, as you think of something new
You realize fear is an illusion, and more frightening than the truth
Often built upon glass foundations, fashioned in your fragile youth
by Matthew Lawler
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem