And the lion isn't daunted by my candor.
My flickering words of doubt hinder him not.
His roar stills my bent tongue,
His tears bear my aching thoughts,
Bear all onto the table -
My wrong self ransomed by his blood.
And the lion isn't daunted by my folly.
My glistering scales of grime hinder him not.
His paw clears my blind eyes,
His claws tear my dying skin,
Tear deep into the tissue -
My dead self stripped from my bones.
And the lion isn't daunted by my weakness.
My quivering hands of dust hinder him not.
His breath heats my cold blood,
His eyes pierce my fragile heart,
Pierce through into the struggle -
My new self wakened by his soul.
I write to process. I write to explore. I write with the hope of sharing truth greater than my own.