Once, he had been king.
He had lazed while others hunted,
and still gorged himself on the choice bits of prey.
He had snarled, and others obeyed,
for his regality spoke for itself.
His violent potential had been palpable,
but there was no need to unleash tooth or claw.
Until the flame of the usurper flared up,
and he was called to action,
and he was driven away,
and his cubs were eaten,
and his legacy vanished.
Now he lazed again,
a king without a throne.
Indifferent to the vultures
for he had always known
the natural end to any reign:
Old lions die alone.
Lance Colet is a third year at Penn State pursuing a major in economics and minors in psychology and creative writing.