Walking With A Lion At Dawn Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

He was bursting
With a very mad nonchalance -
A trance
A forfeited melee.
He spoke to me,
In the eloquence of a sole commander
Of the forests.

Prying with a roar,
With one paw
Clenched.
He gazed at the automobiles
Parked somewhere,
Sleeping underneath
The gentle mirth of the moon -
We were intoxicated with
Nothing but existentialism.

Forsaken thoughts express
With dispositions under duress.
I sat with a lion
At dawn
In front of a glass house
And he roared,
And I tried to
But I was inadequate.

The skies were painted ebony
And the flowing waters
Of the moon cascaded
Down his golden mane
Of a stark veracity.

The lights ricocheted
From one reflection after
Another
And the lion spoke
In a carefully calculated whimper.

Roar.
He said.
I was silenced
Like the rocks beneath our feet.

Roar.
He said again,
And somehow,
Just like how dusk
Metamorphs and flickers in to dawn,
A part of the lion
Was passed on to me.