Observing a Cliche From a Rocky Promontory
Above the heat
the sky is cooling, it’s blue is flecked with ice,
its ghost-written lamp
swept by the upended rags of
a coat-tailing winds
It is a fact
that standing on a high ledge sky-watching the distance
is quintessentially majestic
whether you are a Hitler or a Gandhi
it is its own poetry,
I would strike a heroic pose,
but assume no one else is watching.
There it is - arriving out of a far place,
a living cliché.
The Bald Eagle is high for a natural born scavenger,
soaring above this place where no rabbit runs to hide.
It must have caught a thermal,
let the sky fly it up here.
This whole scene is symbolic.
I look behind me, still no one else here.
It comes nearer,
I think of all the jaded medallions it has been
stamped and embossed upon,
yet here it is
just an existential exclamation point in time,
as I am.
For a moment I am clothed in a noble grandeur
then in a bitter blink
splattered by a smearing of unspeakable crimes.
The eagle veers away
turning deeper into the ice-blue
perhaps it was alarmed or dismayed
by this self-regarding figure
posturing for posterity
upon a highly shaky prospect?
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment