Saturday, 26 March 2011

Save Me From The Savannah

Introduction: This poem is quite different to my previous two but is my least favourite to date. It's much more like a story and I feel it is too simple and straight-forward. However there is deeper meaning then you may think (see 'Notes' afterwards). This poem has the recurring them of being left behind (like 'Wayside') but also themes of feeling a failure, negatively predicting other's thoughts about oneself, "catastrophizing" and the great fear of setbacks in one's recovery process leading ultimately to fear of relapse (being eaten by the lions). Let me know what you think and before you judge, this is my least favourite! Comments welcome as always...


Dry, baking, red earth, swathes of long, yellow grass,
I arouse, groggy-eyed, the world viewed through glass,
My limbs are stiff, iron-cast,
Soon to gallop with my herd.

Under the acacia, we'll gather, re-group,
We're our own compact unit, a tawny-brown troop,
Yet we don't battle, we run, run from you,
That is what I've learned.

Our great fear is the lions who come out to play
their torturous, treacherous, teeth-shearing games,
Once their canines have grip, there is just no escape,
We must gallop, must leap, must bound.

The herd I'm with now have a spring in their step,
they have superior agility, are much more adept
than those whose company I once kept.
Though they are no longer around.

There's a reason for that I dare to say,
They stumbled, they limped, some even lame,
Once, wearily walking, in a clearing they lay,
faced by an army of eyes.

Phantom fireflies, the eyes then danced,
With a uproarious elegance the pride duly pranced
Like a one-sided joust, the lions lanced
their teeth into fresh gazelle hide.

I looked on aghast, my horns those of devil's.
How could I just watch them squirm in peril?
I hid, my head curtained by flowers and petals,
On the edge of the clearing I lay.

My speed had left me with a new lease on life,
I joined a new herd, my heart set alight.
Beneath this acacia, it all feels so right.
That was until the twelfth day...

The enemy were spotted near the watering hole,
A routine procedure would follow, I know,
Over rough terrain, ourselves we would throw,
But my legs fell out of rhythm.

A stumble, a crack resonates from my leg.
Am I done for, do I lay, a mangled mess?
I struggle to my hooves to catch up with the rest,
They canter with indecision.

With a raging reluctance, they trotted in wait,
I'm certain it's not just my limp leg they hate,
Roars closing in, are we too late
to avoid their leonine murder?

Death was approaching, nigh on our heels,
Though my head throbbed, I tried to keep even keel,
The shroud of night was upon us, in my bones I could feel
that I would embody luck further.

Beneath the cloak of darkness, there was no more to fear,
The savannah safe once more, no danger was near,
We returned to the arms of our acacia,
Like a tiger, my leg streaked... red.

I sunk slowly into a deep reverie
Where they despise my incapabilities.
When I aroused, I knew the problem was me.
My herd had left me for dead.

Notes on Save Me From The Savannah

- In my hospital we have a table system that range in amount of staff support in correlation to where you are in your recovery. Fairly recently I was moved from the monitored middle table, to the semi-supervised table where you have to take far more responsibilty (moving to a new herd). I've been finding things difficult lately which has been channeled into my food (as my bad feelings always are) which is understandably stressing out my fellow patients. My fears that they hate me and not just my food behaviours (not just the gazelle's limp leg) and that I will be demoted to the middle table again (the herd leaving the gazelle for dead) are expressed through this poem.

- Being eaten by lions represents relapse.

As always, thanks for reading :)

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