The Agora Times

As the men above sink into golden thrones

The cage unleashed his mighty blow

The lion walks the tightropes edge

To head the clouds deeper than their beds

Trumpets blow and their eyes will sift

Of lurking souls who didn’t miss

The water from the stony well

Opens visions of breezing window nights

To shake and wither the dead

The lion’s claws dig deeper, until black skies appear

The trumpets ring out much louder and spirits walk the Earth

Raking the grasslands through and under

Of dying things who must not wander

The lion trots and steeps in his steeple

The red flags blow with tornado envy

Until under the chimney, the blankets shall shift

And the lion must not take his risk

A white bodied wool to open newborn eyes to the singers

To give birth to the new beginning of spring

That has to come, when the coins’ spin on counter tops

The lion’s roar shakes infinity’s core like thunder

While the little raw comes through, like a brand new whisper