I cannot defeat a lion
mane freshly washed and dried
with the organic soaps of aloe.
He stands there with pride
and power exuding from his stance alone.
He is king, and without crown or scepter in hand,
he owns a continent and I reside
in the shadows behind some giant
grey shield, for I cannot defeat him;
not with words nor swords
can I pierce his rugged skin
or persuade a peaceful grin.
His teeth already dripping with warm
red blood from my heart and
stained from those before mine.
I cannot defeat a master
in a territory he has dominated
for centuries, a skilled hunter
who creates his own desires only
to relieve boredom and then fulfills them
only to remain unsatisfied.
If I can coax it not to kill me,
then I will consider this a victory.
