Lion-Heart

Gouge a tear into my soul and you shall uncover not courage.

Slit my veins and there shan’t be a drop of bravery seeping from my festered wound.

Remove my skin and bear witness to the architecture of the frail and meek.

Yet, so, nick deeper, and only by the skilled handed shall thee discover the heart of a lion - roots deep within.

Sew up my skin with the fallen hair of the foolish Nazarite.

Mend my cuts with the harp strings of kings.

Hang me above thy bed and hear the cold wind strum me dry; at the hush of night, you shall harken the grand orchestra of my cries.