Birth Of The Lion Man Poem by Norman F. Santos

And he was a man with revealing sylvan eyes.
Sad, wandering, eager-eyes swathed with sagacity.
Coy he was, like an eagle in the wild; avert but suspicious.
He is not a child, but he is less than a man.
A critique and a wonderer loathing on his own skin
At the top of his head, he watched people.
He watched them flash harlequin smiles at each other
Smiles that harmed his eyes like polarized lights
And he remained aloof, preserved to his flightless dignity.
His nest a bare warren of pride and fear
Every leaf of the book he turned with dismal eloquence.
Disgusted with the filth of the forged layer
He desires to strip them, undress them
To crack the cynic Monalisa smile and the soul submerged beneath.
A spin-off awaits to swivel as he walked the cobbled streets
Unmasked, but masked with forced vulnerability.

Strutting the town like the lazy-pacing clouds,
Invading skies like searing rays of light
Her lucid radiance in the kind afternoon
Ruptured like pyrotechnics shooting with sparks
She’s a mirror, bursting with luminescence.
In a town confined within tedious time
Her presence invoked a prism of hope.
Whipping and lashing everything in a subtle vigor,
Bending the sealed harlequin smiles to transparency
An enigma superior than the moon, magnetizing
She walked the core of the earth with eyes of a periscope.
Her light caught his bronze frame and he almost burned
A light so flustering, it revealed his concealed omnipotence
She is a drug; a ladder to the vertex
To the grounds of liberation,
The freedom of the Lion.