Main Lion: Part 2

"Main Lion: Part 2" By: Erickson

Surroundings constantly speak. 
Heart, brain, and stomach provide the beat. 

“It’s my Birthday”, the lion paws the ground.
The concept of an anniversary must be buried in the dirt.

A pungent sun sets on the two-year-old cub. 
The growing mane around his face is set as a silhouette. 
His facial hair transforms him into a sharpened baby sunflower. 

Night settles but stirs the stillness of the air, as if a graveyard exists here. 
His fur pricks up. 
The grass resembles old, over fried green beans, stretched and shriveled.
Grrrrrrrr
The golden yellow savannah, a fever that inspires the hunt, 
Has faded to a cold brown and is washed in moonlight.
RrruUU-UUooo
The baby’s stomach twists, like a rickety boat on an endless ocean. 

When you do not eat for days, the stomach ties itself around your heart.
The bladder droops, and the soul suffocates.
A sick sixth sense arrives. 
It takes you and consumes. Decaying every ounce of your being. 

A purple glow still shimmers from his ragged eyes, 
Sparking the brown grass into fantasy. 
A gray, cylindrical bug emerges and scurries with its billion legs. 
In the dull light and fading landscape, 
the critter becomes possessed by the devil.

The rotating cufflinked body, the smooth metallic shine, 
Resembles the same machines humans have passed the savannah on. 
When he was just born, he saw the intricate vehicles, 
The blazing Gods that carried the humans. 
Popping and roaring and bouncing.
The image sits within him. Still stuck forever under his eyes. 

Then, the bug’s conveyer belt of legs, betrays.
The lion pounces the ground and slurps his smidge of a meal. 

Finally, having stopped his aching belly, 
The lion finds the last bit of shelter in the hollow of a tree trunk,
And goes to sleep. 

This has been Winter. 

His mane twists and grows the slightest millimeter in his hard slumber.

Some parts of our lives, we don’t mature fast enough.
Other parts, we eat the full apple from Eden. 

Suddenly it is sunrise, 
And morning scents swell 
From all edges of the tree trunk.

The lion stretches his legs, and yawns to the Gods.
“Please bless the dying ground to offer food today” 
The beast’s short body props up, and his eyes enlarge…

This territory…
Its reeking infiltrates his nose. 
A radius around this log has been marked 
And claimed...by a larger lion, no doubt.

He scurries out from under himself, trekking distance, 
And then twists his ruffled body.
He is the silhouette of a sunflower, with a brighter morning backdrop. 

His out of place whisker props up and he wonders silently.
His thinking is slow and steady.
Like how a man in a coma must dream and live within those dreams.

Questions, coherent and strong, grow bold under his stomach,
When a body mounts the nearest hill. 

The male lion's heart quickens, his soul whispers: "Leave. Now."
Then, the animal's details appear in full.

Its fur is sleeked all the way to...her eyes.
Alluring yellow, like a lighthouse. 
Contrasted by her bold pupils, like caution tape. 
An invitation yet, a warning...
The male lion makes his approach. 

Surroundings constantly speak. 
Heart, brain, and stomach provide the beat. 

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