The Lionman Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

A lion,
Who devours the squalor
Of a world that reeks of mire.
He is the flame of an ire,
The fire that incinerates the derelicts.
There is an indomitable force
To reckon behind
His stalwart paws.

He is the connoisseur
Of meddling with the night howls.
His prowl of blatancy
Singes in the night -
At dawn,
He hunts,
He skulks within the establishments
Ensconced behind the shadows
Of the populace
And that is where I found him.
Bleeding.
Dying.

But still, he held the
Deadly air of a relentless
Vagabond
That lunges at night
Upon lucid bodies.

Let me tell you
About a lion
Emboldened by
The golden pillars
Of verses.
With a taut fixation
Towards a woe -

This lion left them
With nothing
But bedazzlement
And utter despair.

A lion in a man,
A man in a lion.