Golden Lion

The golden lion’s poise is regal to behold;
With tremendous body swaying, decisive and bold.
The rays of the sun respect him and shine upon him well,
As if to pay him tribute for reflections of themselves.
His place is known by all who’ve seen his light,
Either through mutual agreement or torn by vicious bite.

The sun will outlast the lion regardless,
It cannot preserve his gold.
It is time alone that will tame this lion
By making him grow old.

by Garret Woo



He came on soft and creeping feet
Of cotton soles upon that heap.
He raised his fist up to the air
And with a cry he sounded scared.
“Why have you forsaken me?” He asked,
“For I gave my heart to make it last.”
But fairness knows no rules, you see,
As promise knows no courtesy.

by Garret Woo

c. 2016


With wanton eyes: the fallen.
They look at you: the fallen.
They eyeball me incessantly
As the fallen seek to see
Through eyes of broken pasts;
They wish a wishful dream.

by Garret Woo

c. 2015

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