The Lion and a Lamb
The rain fell for a fourth day
deluding the rhythm of cars and lights.
Driving from the church
my Camry rolled to a halt.
A Lexus was stopped alone against the curve.
"Just like mine only dressed in luxurious turns."
In it, Idling in the opposite flow,
A lonely lady hid in sheets of acidic rain.
She sat bent low
holding the steering wheel with withered arms.
Her hair shorn like a lamb before slaughter
and her head wrapped in blood red silk.
Her weeping cries bayed into the sobbing windows and
drowning rain.
My lion's heart felt her dread.
A lifeless life bearing
tumors in her womb
carrying her towards those four mourners
in a green field with grey stones.
But in the cage of plastic and glass
the lion held.
His burning brown eyes looking through mine
His tears I tried to blink away.
The light turned green and on I drove,
forever silent on a still rainy day.
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