The Lion

Tightly woven around this idea
As if to break in your virgin senses
Don’t make me-
My hands to your face
Exploding
Orgasm after orgasm of pitiless violence
Plundering your land of all of its worthwhile resources
You need to understand
The extent of my rage
I would have to come ‘Down’ to your level
There is a reason why-
I feel obligated
Not to hurt you, though I would easily
I would willingly
But it is not the way—
This is not how things are done in my plane
Though it might be easier
I want to injure you in a way that fixes your crooked stride
I wish to maim your old world of thought
I would like to cannibalize this,
this recurring delusion that your kind has so cheaply woven into a banner and folded over their eyes.
Or is it I who has woven a banner?
Is it I that folded these ideas into nothingness
Reduced them like origami until a perverse esotericism took hold
Or did I hammer them, with rage into stilts to lift myself above others?
and yet, I am still in chains.
I am still as powerful and hateful
To imply that my world is different than yours
We are Locked in place
In whatever obscure force brought us-
mired us together
in this filth that makes mortals of us all