The Lion Reigns, Always Poem by Tony Cemaluk

Note this well.

The lion is down,
not dead.
Sight still scans the distance, secures the plain, the terrain.
Body seated.
Roar still ruffles the woods.
Chains hold the legs.
The head holds the horizon compass.

Mind does not melt. It mints duty designs.
Hands are held, but handiwork flows.
It glows outward.
Disciples stand by, alert, duty-bound for the signal.

From afar, the lion bellows.

The devil designed plots to clip the paws,
to strip the crown.
Damped by the lion's God.
The lion's God kept the crown, kept the name.
Because the brain never broke, never choked.

Real experience does not rust —
just refined, renewed, regenerated, rewired.
Old hands still know the beat, the dance, the step, the tune.

Let youth warm the field.
Let cubs play in the kingdom.
The lion holds the wheel.
Steers to cheers of glory.

Legs failed.
Head was filled.
It rules continually.
Lion is lion.
Always.