Monday, January 18, 2010

As I Ponder my Solitude, the Eagle Dies.

It is quite sad.

I feel odd,
and solitary like
a dying,
once-proud eagle.

He once stood brave and proud, with wings
that scooped
up the heavens themselves.

A whole, spacious world,
with mountains and rivers
--a little bit chilly, but steadfastly beautiful--

existed under his feathers.

The eagle was always alone, however,
with the aforementioned universe seen from a birds-eye view.

He never came down to Earth.
I guess it was just fate, or cold feet
that willed him to remain apart.

It is quite sad.

Because the eagle is finally
after all these lone years,
dying all alone
(as custom for
this troubled one),

on the steepest of precipices
high above the world
of normalcy, one
of envious quality.

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