African Lions

At the sun's roar, African lions rise.
Brave in their crude strides in a pride,
They survey the land for what to eat.

From the shoulder on an ancient rock
Their manes dazzle in the morning's air,
Their tails drag behind like princely robes.

Kings lust the fear their presence command
When their barrel eyes focus on a dwindling prey,
The way the African lion's claws rip the ground below
Pulling everything in the distance closer and closer.

Warriors desire to be remembered by the lion's heart,
Pounding on calm rage with such precise control
That bursts out in seconds ending with blood.

Their preys, not necessarily the weakest,
But fate always has its peculiar ways.