where the sun forsakes the right to rise,
and mute songbirds fly,
a lioness is weeping.
Wounded by humans,
she fled to a land
where brightness is denied
and communion is eclipsed.
She creeps fearfully through obscurity and despair.
Her beauty and power
has been masked
by endless darkness.
Her tears are melancholy and overflows
like a waterfall.
She is now a shadow of antiquity,
crouching in the bush,
never realizing that as with all things,
time has healed her wounds.
She has been blinded by the night
and can not see that just beyond the darkness,
sunlight awaits,
eager to unveil her greatness
and point her back to a world
of delectation that was maliciously
hidden by mercenarius skies.
Instead, her weeping echoes throughout the gloom
and sticks like a broken record,
repeating a forlorn melody heard by no one
but herself.
