Life itself is a metaphor of everything around us.
This story of a young man of 18 yrs, goes to serve in a country filled with
hatred, unrest and up-evil. All the while his heart, (like so many) is locked
in mind and body of home. And of a grandfather of 103 years, to be correct.
His love and admiration for his grandson is beyond measure. These two are
tighter than fleas on a mountain lion.
Back home are the usual family members praying for God to watch over him,
with hopes of him returning safe, sound and all body parts. Picture this: An
very old man sitting on a porch in an old rocking chair, that happens to creek
on the rock back. He is grandfather. who has seen his share of war when he
was the same age. He fought for something or someone, well to him it matters
As he dozes off in the chair, he falls in a deep sleep where upon he begins to
dream (or as his heritage believes, goes into a vision) of his beloved grandson
over in a country fighting for whatever or who ever? Here is his vision as you
THE EAGLE TAKES TO WING
there high on a mountain pine branch
he sits with his head drooped.
For years I watched
from hatch-ling to a regal king in his flock.
Now it's time
for the aged C*ck to take his last flight
around this home.
There was a time
when he glistened in the noon sunshine.
Feathers as dark as the black bears fur
and his crowning glory of white.
For miles the eagle was heard singing,
his shrill echoed deep in the forest dark.
But now the tune is gloomy,
tattered, beaten and a sore throat moan.
Apparently he no longer can sing a king's tune
for and of their liking.
His song has faded deep into the forest
where the tongue slashers hunger.
Often cursed and thought to be
a mouthy free-loading crow.
That my friend,
cuts like a knife,
straight through the heart.
A world of wasted beauty
on the fly-by,
fades to gray.
However the Forest Spirits sing
of how glorious the "Ode to a Monarch" is.
Beyond the tallest of Ponderosa's,
I remember following your flights.
Those days, now gone
and they will never be replaced.
Old buddy, Listen!
I hear the mighty Eagle Spirit calling to you.
The Eagle sings,
"I must fly free as the wind sings",
"Or not at all".
Now as the sun bows low;
As if in agreement,
I see you in a glow of red.
My heart knows it's your last as king.
It is his spirit as Eagle King,
that fades into the shadows of the setting minx.
"I wish you fields plentiful in corn to fatten you the winter long".
The mountain now chills
as the blanket of night is drawn across the forest.
But I will not leave you alone,
I will stay by your side; your enemies are many.
There in the thicket of moonlight,
A face of shadows,
so familiar, Yet I can not recall.
Within the shadows of all my days yet to be night,
you think you've found fair game?
Well not this night!
Sly you may be foxy one,
there will be no dinner in your den of dens this night!
It's late and I am tired,
this is where I say goodnight,
as my heart hovers in mid-air.
I need to rest my eyes
I will keep vigil until the early morning light.
I shook my head; time seemed to pass...
Your in flight! What has changed?
Before my sight to what has to be an act of wizard-trey
There in my mind
you were in an imaginative flight,
till the rising of the sun.
It was as if you were placing footsteps upon billows of white cotton.
As you walked across the evening sky,
your wings were spread across a background of early moaning blessings.
I, in amazement stood in your great shadow
and I found it beautiful!
That's when you fell upon me.
Early morning wasn't as of yet.
Still in the shadows of the moon,
you fell from your branch
and there beyond my reach,
Yet before my eyes
I witnessed your very last breath,
with the flapping of your wings; your eyes slowly closed.
The King was no more...........
I now speak my word to an ungrateful nation
Take him home upon the mighty wings of the Thunder bird.
Crossing over to Paradise
He flew o'er the mountains, valleys and the forest
that was his kingdom for so long.
My eyes began to swell
as the moonlight fell upon your mighty wings,
It's time the Eagle takes to wing,
this is his nevermore...
Now with the vision at end, have you understood the metaphors? My
question to you is, Who's vision is this pertaining to?,
The grandfather's of his grandson? or, the grandson's of his grandfather?
by Richard Lee Cook
An SILVERFEATHER Creation