If a bee can fly and a dove can hover, how long can an eagle stay a float above most steady coasting above a coast.

I am an eagle that has broken off his own wings and grounded himself eyes closed motionless still and calm, allowing the wind to blow and my wounds to heal.

Each breath is a step closer to my flight once more for the eagle sees what it sees and rises out of its own ash to laugh at the flames known as pain.

So in my rehabilitation, I wait only to bond with the sky once more.

For what is an eagle if it does not soar, what is a lion if it does not roar, how can a cheetah be swift and quick if it does not run? Does a king rule over a nation without a crown, a throne and people to rule with?

On the contrary as an eagle flies and owns the sky as do I. For I am not ruled by pain or any other circumstance, only to travel as much as I allow myself to see, spreading my wings is not enough I must be flight itself.

Seeing with my eyes is not enough, I must know.

Believing is not enough, I must have crazy faith.

I must be the eagle in the sky, the root underneath the soil that birthed an oak tree.

Like the moon that owns the sea I shall be more than just me.

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