Inspired by Al Swanson's tribute:

Click here to see Al's poem: The Cloak of the Lion


He is the warrior spirit
who knows

the essence

that lies...
within the eyes...
of doves,

and where they abide:
their sacred habitat
in which they hide;
and try to shield their hearts
in vague pretense
and phantom recompense

for what they thought
their hopes and dreams had bought...
that safety they so dearly sought.

he knows the talons
of the eagles' claws,
and how they tear away
each day
at the foothold
of his prideful soul...

yet who could bear
the weight he's borne
and live to tell
of bloody battles fought...

a king...

now shorn...
of ev'ry single thing...
that kept him sane;

a scepter fallen;
no pride...
without his glorious mane.

blackened talons
of the eagle
shimmer;
shaven to a...
sharpened point;

majestic feline
savors strength
with ardent ardor...
and meets the eagle's gaze
with fearless fortitude

emitting courage
amid the eagle's
verisimilitude;

a dream of truth and hope,
ground into the dust,
and grounded in the
swooping thrust
of claws of would-be virtue
seeking... always seeking;
yet never fully grasping

trust...

the eagle tempered strong
in shrieking flight

extends its razor claws
and slices through the sinew,
challenging the lion's might;

and even though the mane is gone,
the King's foreboding paw
beheads the eagle...

with but a single stroke;

for there within his
battered shell,
the lion's courage
still remains...

intact;

beneath his subtle

silken

cloak.

Copyright (c) ad infinitum Jeff Mason