It hangs on hip
dragging heels
sharp into the ground
of contentment.
I can fore-go all
of this yet it brings a sick
comfort to now its there;
sadness swoons by
its own shattered
windows,
trying to understand
courage and its plights
trying to reenact the
fury of the lion's
roar;
the jaunt and leap
of panther, as it
fearlessly draws
night and the mysteries
within it.
There is passion that
brews in this flesh,
pleading to any ears in the universe
to give a sign,
that all will be fine
even as I fall, crash
and burn.
Silver trophy winner
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