WHY EAGLES CRY

The tears have stopped
which flooded my tenuous pedestal of esteem
gushing like a relentless, bone chilling rainfall
across the burgeoning face of my every wish sired mirage.

Mid the tortuous tornadoes of thunderous threatening words
painfully shredding my delicate layers of desires
did I feel exposed to porcupine quills of night's haunting questions
till I became a puppet and zombie feeling hollow of passion,
a social pauper and emotional vagabond
utterly anorexic in my spirit from the famine of love.

Then, while languishing so far beneath hope's sky,
trapped in the vacuous muck of despair's suffocating goo
an unexpected merciful touch of compassion
stopped the tremors of melancholy
by a hand able to revive through a caress of sigh's healing,
reaching into my deepest torment with an unconditional stroke of care.

Then I rise renewed and soar above my destitute wasteland
breathing in the freshness of newborn wings and uplifting winds
carrying me to my dreams once more
having agonized from the wounds of elation's bleeding plumes
while remembering what is beyond the moments that are so darkening,
inhaling again the wondrous and merciful seconds sublime
felt more intensely by those who have fallen from the clouds
and know within each throbbing ache of their being
why eagles cry.