Saturday, May 19, 2012

His Last Breath

The lion sleeps
in the comfort of his heart
while the claws digest
in the belly of the beast.
Turmoil, twist and tears
now knotted is the mane
and the pride, long gone.
Where lays the open peace
the Savannah once held
these gentle windswept fields
where the golden hair of sun –
once lay.
No longer can his roar be heard
as the silence claims the day
and parched is the earth
where his tears fall between the cracks
never to be seen again.
He rests his head
and prays for death
he listens for the night to come
no longer does he wish to roar
but to hear the sweetness –
of his last breath.

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