For Cecil {poetry}
A roar bellowed,
hollow,
like the ghostly wail of spirit
passing out of body
through the tunnels
of vocal chords.
Lungs let out their last exhale,
like hot air balloons
losing steam as they billow
back towards
the ground.
And those massive paws
pounded the ground,
once
with unadulterated
strength and prowess,
now lie
leaving
their last imprint
in gravesite soil.
That last roar rustles
these savannah grasses,
haunting like the shadows passing,
spilling over the lit kerosene
of evening light.
Tonight
the moon won’t show her face,
refusing to display
any blackened bloodstains
with illuminating highlights.
The plains are echoing.
The cages are rattling.
The wild weeps to roam free.
They’ve been locked
inside themselves too long,
forgetting the feel of warm blood
coursing through their veins,
staining their teeth.
Their animal instinct
domesticated.
Their ardent hunger numbed.
Did you feed
your mammalian hunger,
the appetite you’ve denied yourself
all these years?
With the shot
and the roar
and the rush of blood in the ears,
Did you finally feel alive?
Somewhere inside you
growled a lion
in its rib-caged den.
But it died
like a soul
grown as ashen as moth-wings’ dust.
You couldn’t reconcile
that you too are beast-like,
and perhaps
you could never come to terms
with the similarities
between you and that majestic beast,
because you keep
your beastly nature
strangled tightly by your leash.
Those who roam free and wild
terrify the trapped,
so you trapped him in your sight
and when you looked
into the iris you saw only a prize.
You did not recognize
your own animal soul
reflected in the eyes’ flecked gold.
No.
You did not recognize which soul
you had in fact shot down.
*****
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