Scar 8 Drawing

Scar; Part 3 - Requite Dorya the lion was strong and just. Master of the Mara's veldt, Prime territory by a water hole, Where abundant prey dwelt. One sizzling day He found neath a shrub The bleeding body Of an orphaned cub. Lions kill cubs That are not theirs, But his wounded heart wept For its helpless stare. Hesitantly accepted, Not guided nor schooled, But for timely kindness From the lion that ruled. Winter upon lonely winter Spent under the pride’s heel. Eschewed with disdainful scorn. Left scraps every meal. Till one day a pair of young males Conspired to arrogate Power over the pride To usurp and subjugate. A savage battle was fought With Dorya brawling the two. Outnumbered against the odds, ‘Twas an unfair coup. One telling blow and the king fell Wounded on his side. A dark cloud of doubt cast over The throne of the pride. A final strike of death And power would be theirs, But the wounded heart weeps For a helpless stare. As the duo neared maliciously To ensure the king’s demise, Out of the pandemonium A deafening roar did rise. Out leapt the scarred one Between the king and the pair. Devoid of mother’s strength, To requite fatherly care. Suffering endless blows, Rising up time and again. The final tryst with his soulmate, Insufferable pain. Scars borne and inflicted Flesh ripped out from hide, Till three motionless corpses Lay by Dorya’s side. A gruesome martyrdom To forestall regicide, A valorous self-annihilation Never witnessed by a pride. Some scars are of the flesh, And some are of the soul. Some kill a part of you, And some can end you whole. Each affliction is a test of How much you can endure, Gnawing away, bit by bit, Till the pain is no more.