Cecil The Lion Poem by LexicaL Field

In crowded rooms, of the East
Women lie awake.
Beaten and beaten, death from the stake.
So their voices we cannot hear,
But we know enough and feel amount,
To know they live in fear.

Noise is not the medium, the way we judge our fruits.
It's not size of fault,
Child or adult,
That matters around here.
We know that killing is wrong enough
To bag a worthy smear.
But when Cecil fell to the ground and died
In the Southern Hemisphere.

There's meant to be no hate,
For those who cannot speak too clear.
So why do we not make a fuss
When a spider is crushed in fear?
Why is it, that to kill a cat is reprehensible,
But to pick and chose,
What is killed is to lose,
Is in our nature still.