My Dad the King

I wrote this poem when I was about 10 or 11 and my dad had locked me in my room again. It is in its true form straight from my old diary.

My dad was like the Lion King.

He was a lion

and he made himself king,

of everything.

His roar was our garage door,

telling us he was home.

And we little hyenas fled to our rooms,

not to be found.

He'd storm through the door,

fuming before he even said "hi".

Not one little crumb on the floor,

ever escaped his eye.

Then he'd really roar.

He'd storm down the halls,

and line us up like military men.

He'd tell us what failures we were,

and make us clean his den.

It was never good enough for our king.

We always missed some little thing.

The bruises that marked us for what we were,

a great waste of flesh and air,

caused teachers to gasp and stare.

But there we lived,

in the shadow of Pride Rock,

chained to the darkness of the caves.

But when we could finally take no more,

we broke our clanking chains,

escaping out through the pouring rains.

Our lioness led us cubs away,

while the valley shook with the fury of the king.

We hid beneath the stickers and thorns,

hoping to dissuade the devil's horns.

When the sun finally rose,

kissing the flat desert that rolled before us,

we did what we must.

Never again did we trip over our chains,

never again did we hold our tongues.

We were free from the never-ending horror,

and now we can all finally

Roar.

Reviews

[Mark]

I too was the victim of a military tyrant, the Naval fighter pilot, so I identify most strongly with this poem. liked your use of imagery--the shodow of Pride Rock, the thorns (hard times) that lay beneath it, which your family had to endure for a time, the enraged, defensive Lioness. To this day I deplore being addressed as "Sir"! Quite inspirational!
Have you read, "The Great Santini"? You need to!

[Ellen Hammond]

Wow! You had a gift for writing well even at an early age. But, it seems that for many of us who lived with abuse, writing was our main escape. Glad to hear that your mother fled the tyrant with her children. This is very well penned with great analogies and metaphors. Keep writing, you are gifted.

[cest la vie]

Very well expressed and the flow just clip-clops along so smooth(sorry for the horsey reference). This is raw, yet honest and I like your style. Very well done!!

[emmajoy]

This positively gallops through the history of personal tyranny .. your meter here is like drumming at march tempo. What incredible phrasing you use here too .. 'When the sun finally rose, *kissing the flat desert* that rolled before us,'

But, it's that final word tho takes the crown .. ROAR!