Sound of a bullet

She laid beautifully, peacefully on the meadow
She was at her home
Where she belonged to the den
As much as it belonged to her
Watching diligently her children
One by one nurturing them
To grow strong
To be the lions they are destined to be
The ones nature calls upon
To raise a new life, a new generation
Only to continue the circle of life
Which their ancestors have long known
They play with one another
And sleep securely with their mother
Laying eyes on them for the last time
For tomorrow, her eyes were not to see light
In the early dawn did our eyes meet
I was looking for a new home
And theirs was to be mine alone.
The redness in her eyes still hunts me
As I put my own children to sleep
Pierces my soul in the stillness of the night
Asking where her children are at
Who woke up to nothing and perhaps even less
I alone hold the answers
As to why now the circle of life stands disturbed
Vanishing into the sound of a bullet
The very last of a heart beat
Announcing violently the beginning of the end
What becomes of lions with no mothers?
My door is always locked.
My gun replaced my wife
What becomes of children
Raised in the place of lions?
Underneath, a den still lies
Mixed echoes of lions roaring
And children crying take shelter in one anotherAt the echo of a bullet.