SADNESS OF LIONS

I could stare into the eyes, of the nomadic lion for days The competing warmth and flint of his eyes Looking forever across his valley For what? Beneath that noble brow and fiery mane What lies within his heart and dreams That would drive this survivor's rule? Through famine and combat Beneath the harsh savannah suns? Keeps his gaze so steady Through the long summer weeks That stretch endlessly between the rains?

It is no wonder They prowl our sleepless hearts That their image should be burned Across our history and our prose. Staring into his eyes, That mix of fear and sadness Of danger and fatigue As though he has seen too many sons Lost to the seasons of hunger Unrelenting heat Or vicious maw.

Silently he broods Over field and hill Fuels himself On unspoken hope. The same burning ember I protect in the pitch of night.

We are both survivors. Liberty is not ours. We sleep without rest, Earthbound and coiled beneath Sovereign weight we carry. Roar at the moon In brazen demand of all its despair, Commanding it continue in spectral flight- Yield the dawn, and all it’s burning reality.

Time and life have torn from our tongues The choice to howl or to mew. Left us nothing But our defiant throaty bellows, Announcing to all who hear: "LIFE rumbles within our caged breast! Unable to escape Never to be released Lest the jungle rip it from our chests!" Only then shall we lay down And relinquish our inconsequential kingdoms.

Until then We reign, silently noble Longing for the return of our lost pride To the shade of the strangler fig And the memory Of cubs who once playfully Vanquished our tails Absently conquered our hearts And left us so suddenly Kings with no successors Kingdoms without heirs