Wild King

January 28, 2012
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Crown made of pride.
The wild things, they hide.
The wild things, they wait.
They pounce. They pray. They practice. They hate.
In the might of day.
Language in growls. Or so they say.
Hunting the music that keeps them away.
Dirt, dissolving under the paws.
Of the ones bathed in sunlight. Stretching their jaws.
Wild and dazed, hair on end.
Watch the creatures
Play pretend
Roar to the night. Let them hear.
The power strong. The power clear.
Don’t breathe.
Don’t blink.
Don’t make a sound.
They’re the ones who stand their ground.

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