King of The Jungle
(For Francie 1956-2009)
He went back to look for his youth,
In echoes, shadows and stains,
Back to where his memory was more easily seduced,
Walking in verdant lanes.
He recognized in the moist and smoky air,
His legacy in others’ hearts,
An undying image of his flair.
Smelling the past in dilapidated rooms,
As if in his own personal museum,
While Time plundered all our lives,
He remained behind the screen.
Escaping the ravages of the cynical eye,
He hid innocence wrapped in light,
From an unforgiving sky.
In the darkness, his mother and father calling him,
As they used to, for his tea,
He was forced to finally admit, that,
Freedom is only useful to the free.
No Hollywood boulevard pavement stone,
Shall mark his starring role,
His time among us, will linger forever,
In the mercury of our soul.
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Comments about this poem (King of The Jungle by Dermot McGarthy )
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