The Lion Gate
Sensuous hills of barren bush
carpeted with almond stones
where soldiers marched important
tunes, once in armors bronze.
The same steps and crumbs beneath my soles,
stamped with sweat and scars and tears
once heard, through common ears,
now lost, though forgotten never yet.
The Lion Gate meets all who dare to
enter. Yet play it for a game we must
not, for though barren stands the past
of us truth demands, and truthfulness, above all.
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