fixing his eyes on the moon
intently and planning his course
a lion stalking its prey under the crimson Sun
laying low and readying its razor sharp claws
his heart was dreaming of the stars;
the glory which awaits beyond the blanket of darkness
starving and salivating
the feast of raw bloody venison
fear of gravity
fear of death
loss of the lion's pride
starvation
through the air at the speed of sound
losing speed rapidly
a meeting of eyes
bodes an omen for failure
not fast enough
not light enough
too hungry
too tired
how near the moon seemed
minutes of pure falling
eating dust
and a desperate roar
jumping off the clouds
off to where he started
never a tiny hare looked so tempting
a tiny prey to keep him alive
where are the stars now?
what happened to more than survival?
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