Sometimes, even Lions cry. No one ever sees, though.
The tears dry on our mane.
What depicts us as men, hides the hurt we often feel.
It seems, in all instances, we remain the same.
Our manes only move with aggression and anger.
No one sees that side of us, soft and caring.
It means expressions of love are met with caution
And never really carry much bearing.
Our manes cover our ears so it's hard to see,
At times, when we twitch them when flies are around.
But it's noticed clearly when it gets too much and the
Smallest things are met with a raised paw and loud, roaring sound.
Our manes cover our shoulders so it's not always
Evident, the weight we bear.
But the mane is swept back, showing a lofty,
But focused, stare.
It's not arrogance or pride but where we look above the
Problem to see the way forward. The right way to go.
It's sad that the mane is often a distortion between
How we feel, how I feel and what shows.
For the mane also covers my chest. It makes my heart
A place of security, love, warmth and rest.
It embraces those, that embrace me, with genuine love,
Compassion and happiness.