The Lions Are Roaring Poem by James Wakelin

When I was little I cried my tears
alone in my room dying from my
self belief which burned holes in my blankets

Now I cry in public where everyone sees
while not caring for the little boy
who saw in himself a fullness

In doubt I strive
with my new sense of
how adventure is suppose to be

But knowing full well that the people of my world
dont see any of my tears because
my love prevents them from seeing

Hostile and barren is the waste
I once trusted
now cast aside as doubtless foolishness

Good-bye soft world
you dont know me
and neither do you need to