Affair with a Lion

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Forgetful past of stolen soldiers
sought by hunters.
Perhaps a dance of blade and blood
and bone.
Perhaps forgotten, but untainted,
unaltered,
of soldiers, of hunters,
of death by stones.

And yet, naïve, and innocent,
and blissful to a fault,
I catch a whim, so close to home
that may be deadly to my heart.
But breeze and bronze
together in a crown
find me forgetful of my past.
And without fear, or even
acknowledgement
I continue to walk my path.

Into a den
of deep and dark
and bats hung by black walls,
and drips of drops
of tears from old
by stalactites they still fall.
Into a cove
of dark and dim
from which echoes loud snores
until the beast of king
of here
awakes and then he roars.

On soft white feet
child-and new
with mud caked around ankles dry,
I pad across soft,
smooth stone
and ask if I shall have life.

The bars have closed
behind me.
The boulders block my way.
Only forward
am I allowed
only here, and stay.
And blood stains on walls
and floors
and the lion’s maw,
and flesh caught bare
and tattered and torn
upon his claw.

And his deadly eyes
flash amber,
and his silent air
screams bleak
and my future with him
here in his cavern
seems less than I might believe.

And my innocence turned
black again
and heart captured in fear;
an affair with danger,
with a sauntered grasp
with lines to which I must adhere.

And my ashes
brought to surface.
And my face pallid
as cold ice.
And his golden mane
glows brightly,
and his eyes
mirror mine.

And I see the blood upon him
and the tears that lay below
and the gashes in his chest and paws
that were hidden by sorrow.
And the injuries that no other saw
for the hunters hunt him too,
the lion, so powerful, so strong,
hurt by selfish truce.

And the lion, so yet cold
to fight on every hunter near.
No one may pass, forbidden glass
shattered by deaf ears.

His amber eyes run me up and down,
suspicious of my stance.
Am I just another woman with a gun,
or will he understand?

With hesitant steps
on scarred-up paws
he treads across pure stone.
Gazes into my cautious eyes
and is suddenly less alone.
Places a paw before me,
a truce by any thought.
I take my hand, place it on his
and lose the past that I forgot.

And I am innocent again.

And he lays down
on cool black stone,
watching me with care.
I sit beside him,
lay beside him,
and somehow I feel him there.
I feel his claws, his deepened breath.
The smell of thick-dried blood,
hanging humid in the air.
I curl up beside him,
fingers in his mane,
a kiss to his forehead
and a smile with his name.
An affair with my killer,
the prey loves her hunter,
danger, and terror,
and folly-ful blunder.

And yet, my lion, so cold,
so distant,
alone in the world,
and I as his mistress,
his heart and his love
his silly little girl.

Finally starting to get back into the hang of things. Granted, I don’t think my writing is as good as it could be, I guess that’s what stress does to me, but I’m getting there.

This is mostly about the danger of love itself. Putting all of your heart into one person could very well kill you, and has before. But when you truly love someone, you become a child again, and take a risk. And sometimes, it’s worth it.

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About Mattie J.

My name is Mattie J. Hamilton, and I am seventeen years old. I live in a cute little house in the country in Southern Indiana, and have lived there my entire life. I self-published two books of poetry a few years ago, but I much prefer writing fiction of poetry, journalism, or any other sort of writing. I'm somewhat new to the blogging world, and I may come off as a bit of an ameteur, but hey, I am an ameteur. Proud of it. After all, I'm just a kid, and I have plenty of time to learn.

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