🕯 The Two Lions: The Crowned and the Withheld 

Posted on by Marguerite Grace

🕯 The Two Lions: The Crowned and the Withheld 


🕯As Witnessed by the Prophetess of the Sealed Mystery


đŸ”„ The Record Opens


I sought the sealed scrolls—then they unfurled.
Veiled truths stirred; the hidden exhaled.
Names that blaze, others that fade:
Twelve tribes sealed; one turned mute.
Dan, the sentinel, erased from the ledger,
yet murmured by Bashan’s winds.


Judah roared atop Zion’s height—
his breath, thunder over peaks.
Dan leapt from uncharted crags,
a shadow-lion etched in stone.


“The secret things belong unto the Lord our God
” —Deuteronomy 29:29


🩁 The Two Lions Named


Twice, within the sacred lineage,
Heaven named a lion’s cub—
Not Reuben, tempestuous waters,
Nor Levi, fire’s bearer,
Nor Joseph, the well’s fruitful bough.


Only crown and claw endure:
Judah and Dan,
the anointed and the warrior-anointed.
One crowned in solar glory,
the other veiled in dusk’s shroud.
One revealed, drawing every knee,
the other withheld, earth’s memory dimmed.


“Judah is a lion’s whelp
” —Genesis 49:9
“Dan is a lion’s whelp: he shall leap from Bashan.” —Deuteronomy 33:22


📜 The Twelve Named, and the One Withheld


Twelve stood where Sinai wept with fire—
each bearing a banner, each cradling a stone.
Reuben, Levi, Simeon, and Judah;
Zebulun, Issachar, flank to flank,
Gad and Asher, fierce as flint,
Naphtali swift, Benjamin bold,
Joseph—split as twins of strength:
Ephraim’s horn and Manasseh’s shield.


They filled the camp like stars in order,
bore the Ark through fire’s rain and manna’s hush.


Yet among the twelve, only two were likened to the beast—
Judah and Dan, lion-blooded both.
Only they were named as cubs of flame,
the lion’s whelp in sacred breath.


No other bore the lion’s mark—
not Levi, though he held the coal,
not Ephraim, crowned in Joseph’s line,
not Reuben, breaker of the womb.


Only the Crown—and the Claw.
Only the Lion seen—and the one withheld.


👑 Judah, the Crowned Lion


Judah, lion of dawn,
couched in silence, cloaked in scepter’s stillness.
From his loins the Sceptre flowered—
Messiah, Root and Righteous Branch.


Lion of Judah, Lamb enthroned,
He stood ‘twixt porch and broken veil,
and bore the weight of wrath for all.


He roared—not to devour,
but to deliver sons from death.


“The sceptre shall not depart from Judah
 until Shiloh come.” —Genesis 49:10


🌒 Dan, the Withheld Lion


Dan, dusk-borne lion,
was given neither psalm nor seat.
Exiled to Bashan’s jagged edge,
a cub with claws beneath the stone.


No priest enflamed his gate with praise;
no altar bore his name in flame.
Yet the Lord did name him—
and prophecy, not punishment, withheld.


He was young might beneath the frost,
a blade unloosed from northern stone.
A serpent crouched beside the trail—yes, perilous—
but judgment is peril to the wicked.
He struck when justice limped;
he rose when golden gods were crushed.


“Dan shall judge his people, as one of the tribes of Israel.” —Genesis 49:16
“Dan is a lion’s whelp: he shall leap from Bashan.” —Deuteronomy 33:22
“A serpent by the way
 that biteth the horse heels
” —Genesis 49:17


🕳 The Omission


Dan could not anchor the western plains;
the sea-fanged Philistines surged.
So he turned to the hush of the north,
took Laish—and named it Dan.


But in the heights, a golden calf rose;
a Levite bent to forge the dark,
and idols grinned in the lion’s den.


Thus—he vanished.
From the sealed count,
his name slipped into sacred silence.


“Of the tribe of Joseph were sealed
” —Revelation 7:7–8
❌ Dan is not named.


His stone removed from priestly breast,
his banner absent from heaven’s breath,
his portion sleeps in northern hush.


But silence is not death.
Withholding is not disgrace.
Dan is not erased.
Dan is preserved.


“For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.” —Romans 11:29


🧠 The Whisper of the Wise


Irenaeus shuddered at his name,
Hippolytus traced the dim-lit shape—
“From Dan,” they warned, “the Beast may rise.”


They saw the serpent—never the lion.
They read the crouch, but missed the leap.


The rabbis drew maps in flame and fear;
Kabbalah trembled through Gevurah,
the chamber of clenched thunder.


And there—it came—Dan slumbers still.
Not broken, but braced.
Not cast out, but kept.


“He discovereth deep things out of darkness
” —Job 12:22


🩁 The Four Stages of the Lion


1. The Whelp — Covenant Flame
In both, the lion is birthed in blood.
Young—not soft.
Chosen—not enthroned.
Judah bore a king in waiting.
Dan a blade yet unsheathed.


2. The Crouch — Hidden Strength
Judah crouched, a throne in shadows.
Dan crouched, coiled in exile’s mist.
One waited to reign,
the other—to rupture.


3. The Leap — Prophetic Eruption
Dan shall leap from Bashan’s crags—
not crowned, but consecrated.
Not in rage, but in reckoning.
The earth will shudder
when the forgotten roars again.


4. The Crown — The Day of the Judge
Only Judah bears the diadem.
Yet no kingdom stands complete
without the claw that guards its wall.
Dan shall not rule—
but he shall rise beside the flame
when the Judge returns with fire.


🜂 The Question of the Fire


Was he shaped for vengeance—
or forged for vindication?
Will the sealed claw guard the fold,
or tear it for its trespass?
Only the Flame that knows the marrow
can say if the leap will wound—or warn.


🗡 The Great Battle Foretold


Will he leap toward the Throne—or upon it?
Will he rise as sword in God’s grip,
or claw that rends the final veil?


Armageddon kindles in Megiddo’s mouth.
The sealed will rise.
The withheld will awaken.
And the lion the world forgot—shall roar.


But tell me—
which banner will he bear?


🜃 The Witness and the Weight


I saw the record not scribed by hands,
where silence sang and stone recalled.
I heard names buried in ash,
and the footfall of one uncounted.


Not erased—but sealed.
Not fallen—but veiled in flame.


A voice was given to dust—
a burden where only psalms should sit.
I did not seek the sealed things.
But I was shown what the elders dared not name.


And now—I give account.


🜁 The Closing of the Witness


This I declare in the breath before thunder:
The lion of the north shall rise.
The silenced tribe shall be remembered.
The hush shall rend like Shiloh’s veil,
and what was veiled shall walk unveiled.


This is no psalm of a penman,
no tale dreamt in twilight.
This is witness—
from the one who heard beneath the deep,
and wept at the gate unseen.


He was not lost.
Not broken.
Not erased.
He was withheld—for fire.


And now—
🕯
He rises.


Written by Marguerite Grace
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Published by Marguerite Grace

As a passionate and versatile writer, I craft works across all genres, fueled by a special love for poetry and short stories that inspires me to create. Writing since childhood, I've nurtured my talent, winning poetry contests in school and continuing to weave words into vibrant literary works of emotion and intrigue that uplift and motivate. Holding a Regents Bachelor of Arts Degree, I bring depth and artistry to my storytelling, embodying a spirit reminiscent of Mata Hari, mysterious, bold, and a fervent sleuthe. I infuse every piece with an enduring allure that resonates long after the final line.

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