Something very rough that may end up as part of a study in writing with purposeful style. I'd most appreciate knowing how forced this sounds, and what I can do to increase the complexity of the poem while writing.
A philosopher once stared into the void, and found it empty.
He named it freedom, this dread, and called
for Laughing Lions to leap with him
Into the abyss.
He trusted as he fell.
Just behind him were conquerors,
Enlivened by the silence, and able
To meet the darkness face to face and keep it on a leash.
I am no wizened kapok tree, nor have I seen as much
But it seems to me there may be no jungle kings trailing
I have watched too many matted cubs, swarming ‘round in droves
They grin and mimick, and hide in the night- dark folds
They will never jump-- It is far too easy to sit in the branches, waiting,
And being watched.