PAD Day 12: An Old Tale of Kindness and Mercy

 Today's prompts from Write Better Poetry and NaPoWriMo: (1) Write a "risky' poem, and (2) "Try writing a poem that makes reference to one or more myths, legends, or other well-known stories, that features wordplay (including rhyme), mixes formal and informal language, and contains multiple sections that play with a theme. Try also to incorporate at least one abstract concept – for example, desire or sorrow or pride or whimsy."

That sounds like a lot to pack into one poem, and I did what I could with it today. I didn't really work with wordplay or mix formal and informal language, but I at least used the myth or legend reference, a rhyming poetry form (curtal sonnet. once again a nod to my friend Vince Gotera), broke my poem into two sections (with two different POVs), and incorporated the abstract concept of "kindness" and "mercy." That seems to be something that is in short supply in our country these days, which is one reason the subject of my poem, Androcles and the Lion, struck a chord with me. It's a familiar folk tale (rather than a myth) that dates back to Roman or maybe even Greek times. It has been erroneously attributed to Aesop, but in truth no one knows the original author. I read a little on the history of the tale - there are different versions - and also browsed some art on the subject, which tangentially gives it an "ekphrastic" slant. (I'm sharing an image below that appears to have been a print or postcard attributed to "19th Century French School." It depicts one version of the story I liked, where the lion licks Androcles' feet when they are reunited.)  As far as the Write Better Poetry prompt is concerned, walking into a dark cave with bones on the floor, and pulling a thorn from a lion's paw, sounds "risky" enough, doesn't it?

Androcles and the Lion
 
I.
 
I fled my master’s home and found a cave               
for shelter, dark and strewn with bones.  I crept   
with caution, knew the risk was high, and heard 
a roar so deafening, I feared the grave.                       
A lion limped into the light, but wept                           
in pain, a huge thorn in his paw. He purred                
after I pulled it out. Then we were friends.                
He shared the cave with me. At night I slept            
against his fur. He shared his kill—a bird,                 
a deer. I cook in fire, which he tends   
                                                        to think absurd.     
 
II.
 
I heard they caught my friend, the slave who ran,
and soon thereafter, me as well. A cage
was my new home. They took me out and beat
me, led me to a field of blood and sand
where I’d attack men on a deadly stage.
But one man stood out in the sun and heat,
the man I knew. He looked at me and cried.
He dropped his sword. No battle would we wage.
He said, “Hello, old friend.” I licked his feet.
They pardoned him. He walked out by my side,
                                                              too kind to eat.