Original Poems

The Eagle Red

The forest gold
  alive upon the hills is calling out:
The vision lost:
  a parasite or leukocyte is doubt —

And where should I deliver hope?
And how should I uncover spoil?
Is there a wage that’s high enough
For this much toil?

The eagle red:
  a span of fire burning, bright and grand —
Still must be fed
  with creatures scurrying across the land

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