Bound By Cruelty

I watched as a lion strode down the path.

He carried on top of him a black panther.

Attached, they were, fused together, belly to back.

The panther’s atrophied legs flopped about.

I was not frightened, only horrified.

Eight years, I was told.

For eight years they had been bound together.


I am the lion.  Fierce, beautiful, strong and loyal.

On my back rides cruelty.  The nine of swords.

Mental cruelty, which I have inflicted on myself.

Only the torch, the flaming staff, conquers the parasitic mind.

Only I can release the panther.

It will die without me.  So it must be.

As I can not live with it.



S. Conde









The scorpion stings, the snake tempts and the eagle guides us. Seven tasks, seven rewards, and seven angels.  All in threes.


Venus the star of the morning, the necessary evil.  She who put the sword in the girl’s hand, the crown on her head.  Empowering her to cut away the cobwebs and self doubt.


Fear is the beast gnawing on the leg of the fool.  The hedonistic god looking forward.  He feels no pain. He is zero.  Neither plus nor minus. Open to the world of possibility.


And it is he, he who moves me so deeply. Sipping from the overflowing golden cups. Heart open, my hands pulsate with energy.  There is no beginning, and no end.


S. Conde