A poem about how a lion finds acceptance among his peers by getting his final kill.


My Achievement

Paws grip the sitting tree
Searching for the victim to be
Hearing the quiet, rumors being spilled
See the resistance being killed
Wanting the blood from any kill
The moments come, my heart stands still

The herd below watches the black cat above
Soar through the air like that of a dove
This omen of impeding pain
May my herd’s efforts not be in vain
As the sun sets I take my meal
My day will come, my final kill

The night consumed my power and will
A nebulous feeling doubted my kill
I wanted respect in so many ways
Shortcomings followed in coming days
I needed to hone and sharpen my skills
So I’d achieve one of my many kills

Noon approached as I would stand and wait
The next few moments would choose my fate
 This moment consumed my power, every ounce
I sharpened my claws and went to pounce
They hit the ground with increasing force
Time had chosen a steady course

My spirit reborn was a wonderful prize
I had a glare of joy in my eyes
I achieved a feat only possible with will
I had my trophy, my final kill




Poetry by Coolaaron88
Read 605 times
Written on 2007-07-23 at 03:44

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Lea Foverskov
wonderful rhymes, rhythms, mood, feelings...the big cats can always inspire!

-Lea
2007-07-23